Scars Hold Secrets
by Awesomenes11
Summary: Sleeves can hide many things, including scars, and those scars, hold secrets. It will take someone who shares those same scars to save him, and that someone, is someone quite unexpected.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **Disclaimer**

This was written a long time ago. For reference to the content, it was written to bring about awareness. Since I'm updating it, albeit crudely, I made the effort of fixing it up a bit. To me, this chapter is very awful. But, I'm keeping it like this because I don't want to write another prologue. If you stick around for the latest chapter, the writing improves greatly.

* * *

A time ago I use to wear clothes that matched the seasons.

A time ago I used to wear short sleeved shirts when the rays of the sun landed on my skin.

A time ago I use to slip into comfortable basketball shorts when spring handed the job of "season" over to summer.

A time ago I opted to cover myself in the fabric of my sweater when the day was cold, and remove the material when the air turned warm.

Yes, I once dressed to the norms of society, despite all the constant critism and backlash that I pour onto the senseless and false ideals of socialism. Ironic, isn't it?

Yet now when the air is stale with summer's heat, and the classrooms that I attend are rendered warm due to the school air conditioning, why do I cover my body with such seemingly uncomfortable, and lengthy fabric that are is my clothes?

Why do I refuse to remove my blazer when I am at school, and my sweater when I am at home?

Why do I depend on such meager material like my life depends on it?

You could say that I am trying in vain to be an excellent student and adhere to the school guidelines of clothing that is our "dress code", but any person who decides this is my reason is sorely mistaken.

Why?

...well…

For protection...why else?

These clothes that I face increasing interrogation for wearing, these clothes are my lifelines, my saviors, my warriors, my protectors. You must be itching to find out the explicit reason as to why I must always wear long sleeve clothing, as to why such trivial articles of fabric are things that I depend on so much.

Well it's because of what I do.

What I do to myself; what I do to the ones that love and care for me.

'"I remember that morning well. Why? Because it was so damn cold. As soon as I had provided myself with breakfast and I opened the door to begin my journey to school, I was hit with what felt like a wall of bitter cold. It should have affected me much more than it did that day, but the cold, hard metal of the razor that was my friend the night before was much cooler."

Alright, I admit, that was a bit explicit, but I think you can get the point now, yeah?

Now that we have the pieces of the puzzle that everyone so desperately needed, I can inform you about why I value my clothing as much as I do.

It's as I said before, it shields me. Shields me from the horror that is sure to come when one would look upon my scars. It shields me from the shame that occurs when I look at my club-mates in the face. In short, it protects me. It cares when no one else will. Will _**they**_ care? They are just mere club-mates, of course they wouldn't. One has denied my request of friendship twice, which sent me scurrying for my tools of self-inflicted harm both times, and the other... a nice girl. The most dangerous and betraying type of female, other than a yandere. Then again, who is to say that she isn't? I think I shivered at that thought.

My dad? Don't get me started on him. I know he hates me, I know he doesn't forgive me for what I did. Why doesn't he just say it? Why does he have to act like it's all okay, that I didn't take his life away from him the moment I did what I did?

…

I look at where my fist is currently placed. It seems all that anger turned physical, source: my bleeding hand. I guess I punched the wall during my thought process huh? Good, it will complement the blood that's trailing down my arms. I should really clean that up.

I pick up a clean rag from the pile of them beside me, and sit back down on my freshly cleaned sheets. It smells like lavender, a favorite of mine.

As I begin to wipe the blood gently off of my arm I can't help but notice how much I have fucked up my arm. Former cuts from various types of blades had left their appalling marks on my skin, and have formed into scar tissue, like a lock sealing my secrets within my own body. Of course, it wasn't just on this arm that I had performed my repulsive art, it was all over my body.

If you lifted my jeans that I always wore, it would be clear to you that I had also cut my legs. Lift up my long-sleeve shirt and you would take heed to the nicely cut, thin lines that covered some areas of my abs. I developed those after working out, to help devoid my mind of the memories of that incident.

Ah yes...the incident. You must me dying to know what that certain incident is my friends, however; I just don't feel like we know each other all that well yet. Maybe in a few chapters I will tell you, okay?

As these thoughts flowed through my head I roughly rubbed one of my cuts on accident, allowing it to open yet again and allow blood to once again flow down my already, blood stained arm. I watched it travel down the length of my arm, slowly moving its way around some cuts, and over others. As the drop finally made its way to the end of my elbow, it silently fell to the floor, staining my carpet with a color of rich red. Then almost simultaneously a drop of liquid water fell onto it, beginning to clean the blood out of the carpet. Huh? Was that a tear?

I shakily brought my hand to my left eye, where I discovered more tears starting to roll gently down my scarred face. Why am I crying? I shouldn't be crying. Not after what I have done...what I've done to this now hollow family.

You know...Komachi would not have liked to see me this way…

…

At the thought of my sister's name, a wave of old and hard emotions hit me like a train. The aftermath? Something that was expected.

Tear after tear began to violently will themselves down my cheeks, some landing on the blood that had dropped on the floor just seconds ago. I began to sob, albeit unwillingly.

I did not deserve to let out my emotions like this; I did not deserve to cry. What I did, did not merit such an act.

" _ **But cutting does, Onii-chan?"**_

I stopped as I heard that. No, I froze.

I know that wasn't real, I know that wasn't really Komachi. What she said was something I had told myself a thousand times, but whenever I heard her voice in my head say that, it made me want to stop. But can I stop when I do this because I have nothing else to turn to? Do I even have the strength to do so? Sometimes I wish I had picked something else to turn to. Alcohol is what my father decided to indulge himself in, maybe I should follow in his footsteps? Or maybe I should look to cigarettes like my beloved teacher? No matter what I do, I don't think I'll have the strength to stop...sometimes I wonder if I even want to.

No, I've wanted to stop. I've wanted to stop going out in the world with clothes that make me hot for awhile now. I've wanted to stop the suspicious and questioning stares that my clubmates throw at me whenever we discuss my peculiar choice of clothing. Maybe I should just tell them that I recently got tattoos and I'd be embarrassed if anyone laid their eyes upon them. Please, the day I use energy to go and get a tattoo is the day I turn into a riajuu. I don't need tattoos, because I've already given myself plenty of permanent scars on my body...those scars that I want to stop giving to myself, locking away my problems and pains inside of them like Captain Avery's lost treasure.

But I can't.

I won't forgive myself...because they can't forgive me.

Mother…

Komachi…

They can't forgive me.

 **Because they're dead.**

 **And** _ **Hikigaya Hachiman**_ **killed** **them.**


	2. My First Step Forward

**DISCLAIMER**

This story was written over two years ago. My writing style has changed tremendously since then. If you stick around for the latest chapter, the writing improves greatly.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 1**_

 _ **My First Step Forward**_

* * *

I went to sleep with a bitter feeling inside me that night. Thinking about what happened, about my mother and sister, did nothing to help me from slicing myself another couple of times, but it didn't matter. I deserved those cuts because of my little breakdown, because I let my emotions get the better of me. It will not happen again though; I will promise myself that.

As I made the pathetic and empty effort of getting out of my bed, I felt a little lightheaded.

Maybe I should have laid off some of the cuts.

I tiredly got into my routine of putting of getting ready for school, and that included putting on my milk colored long-sleeve shirt, and jet black blazer to cover my scars. Well some of them are scars, most recently they're not. Let's just call them cuts, I think it will be better to not confuse everyone.

After I had put on all my clothes and freshened up in the bathroom, I made my way downstairs to make myself some breakfast. Or so I had I thought.

Instead, I was greeted by the site of an already cooked plate of eggs and bacon with a sticky note attached to it.

I immediately sighed when I saw it.

It was not that I didn't appreciate the food, in fact if I didn't have to cook food for myself that was great.

It was the fact that it came from my father that made me sigh.

It was yet another one of his attempts to tell me that he loved me, that he cared for me.

But I know deep down that he didn't. He never, and will never, forgive me for what I've done. I can see it in every way he interacts with me. When we talk it's like he's keeping his distance from me, like he's being cautious. His words sounded so empty and hollow. I assume you could blame his career for such type of words, but that doesn't alleviate the fact that whenever he is around me, he's not really there. I can tell he tries to avoid me, but then he goes and does shit like this. What, are you trying to care from me afar dad? It doesn't fucking work like that!

I took a deep breath to prevent myself from going any further with my thoughts. The last thing I need is to cut myself before I even get out of the damn door.

I took the wrapping that covered the plate and softly removed it and threw it in the trash. I'm eating this shit because I'm hungry and I don't like to waste food, not because I'm trying to humor him.

As I began to indulge in the food, I came to a realization that I had for a multitude of times: dad was a shit cook. I decided to stop that thought there, because I was sure that it would lead me to reminisce about the past.

Once I had finished my breakfast, I cleaned up and headed out the door to my bike. As I sat on my bike I realized just how cold it had become. It was the start of my third and final year of high school after all, so we were currently in the season of fall. Before I began my bike ride, I found myself gazing at the sky, something that I had opted not to do for quite awhile. As I did this, I made myself still, in order to take in the full effect of autumn.

The wind was cool, and howled like a monster let loose from its cage. As a result, the oddly, but beautifully colored leaves rustled about on the pavement, going on a journey to wherever the wind would take them. Rakes leaned against houses in preparation for a morning rake, and trash cans were filled to the brim with the leaves of autumn. As I gazed up into the morning sky, I wondered one simple and farfetched thing.

Could I find that genuine thing this year?

* * *

If one focused their hearing enough, they would hear the sound of a lock serving its purpose by securing a bike onto a rack. That bike of course, belonged to none other than myself, and I would not give it away for anyone or anything. Why? Well my mother gave me that bike when I first got into high school so my commute to school would be easier. I remember it well; she gave me a lecture that riding a bike would be good for my physical health as I do nothing in the house all day. Complain as I did, it did nothing to stop my mother from shoving me onto the bike and pushing me onto the road. I remember yelling at her that day; accusing her if she was trying to kill her only son.

I could feel my eyes begin to water, and would soon face an onslaught of tears if I did not stem myself from thinking about my mother. I shook my head a little and reminded myself of the consequences of recalling memories of my mom. As I felt my eyes favor my opinion of not becoming a sobbing mess, I began the excruciatingly long walk to class.

Whispers and turning heads is what was waiting for me as I took my time walking down the hallway. Some gossiped about me having quite the dark aura around me, others detailing my appearance by saying I look like shit. I could go on and on about what the different groups of people were talking about, but I wouldn't want to honor their pitiful conversations by talking about them, so I won't.

I neared the door to my wonderful classroom that held my oh, so wonderful classmates that surely would not talk about me like the people in the hallway would.

In my fucking dreams...well, not really.

I slowly began to open the door to the classroom, but not because I was scared to do so, I was simply sleep deprived from the session with my friendly razors the night before.

Honestly, those gossiping assholes are probably right in the fact that I look horrible, or in their words: "shit". My arm was hurting uncontrollably, and I felt that the dam that was my scar tissue would burst forth and flood my skin with blood. To accompany this burning pain, I had a massive headache, maybe because of the loss of blood..

So that's why I opted to open the door to my classroom rather slowly. Now there was someone behind that door that I did not particularly want to deal with. Her name began with a Y and she was in a rather popular clic, a social indulgence I rather despise.

A deep breath had me ready to open the door until I came to a realization.

Why is this door closed?

I brought my right wrist into my field of view, and looked upon my watch.

…

I'm fucking late?!

How is that even possible?!

I was just walking down the hallway past those gossiping cuntbags and they weren't in class!

Instead of bracing myself for a Y that was in a clic, I instead had to brace myself for the fiery and not yet domesticated cougar, Shizuka!

Ah yes, please do not be surprised that I am calling my teacher my her first name. Somehow, she had been one of the first to hear about what had happened to my family, and she offered solace in herself. I told her that I couldn't open up to her because she just wouldn't understand, but I would appreciate having a friend to talk to from time to time. She refused at first, insisting that she could, no she would help me. All I offered her in response was a simple weary smile thanking her, but standing strong by my request for a friend. Eventually she relented on the grounds that we refer to each other by our first names.

You can imagine my embarrassment when I began calling my teacher by her first name, but eventually, I got use to it. Of course, we don't offer such intimate contact for viewing by other people. Yes, referring to someone by their first name is a means of intimacy, for me at least.

Anyway, back to my obvious lack of time management, I do not want to know what is in store for me. Unfortunately however, I must attend class in order to graduate this year. It is useless to prepare for my ultimate demise, as no amount of preparation will prepare me for what is to come.

Hmm…

Prepare sounds weird now…

Preeppaarreee…

The hell am I doing?

Now armed with the knowledge that am I late, I opened the door with a major bit of hesitation. As I did, I saw the Y person shoot me a look of worriness accompanied with one of confusion. I simply ignored that face of hers and instead brought myself to face my teacher.

I did indeed see my beloved teacher, Hiratsuka Shizuka, but also someone that I'd rather not see.

At the board stood not only my sensei, but my father as well.

What the hell is he doing here?

Suddenly the pain in my arm became a rather burning sensation. I could feel my skin begin to bristle at the sight of my father, and every area that my razor had visited began to itch. It was even worse in the cuts that I bestowed upon myself yesterday night. In a futile attempt to fight back the pain and feelings that were about to burst forth, I grabbed my arm with a strength that was sure to open my already fragile cuts.

My father looked at me with tired eyes; eyes that showed he had been working with the sole attempt to bury himself in it. There was no hatred in them, no feeling at all, because they were empty. That's how he always looks at me on the rare occasions that he does: emptily.

"Ah, Hachiman."

Hearing him speak was even worse for my already shattered mental state. If he was a tyrannical dictator I would have no other option than to cower under his wrath.

He then started to walk towards me; every step he took causing me even more pain than the last. By now I was squeezing my arm, finding comfort in the pain I was receiving from it. I could feel the blood begin to flow down my arm, being absorbed by my long sleeve shirt.

Then as he stopped in front of me, it seemed like the whole world froze. It was just me and my father; two broken men with no one to look to, no one to solve their problems.

We were the same height, and basically had the same build. I had more muscle than him being that I worked out enough to gain them. The only thing that was different among us was our notable age gap and how much more tired my father looked than I did. He still worked the same job day in and day out, rarely showing his face during the day and instead coming home very late at night. When he did come home he would go directly to his well stocked alcohol cabinet, and favored drowning his sorrows in liquor when he could not do so in his work. Rather than seeking help for himself and giving help to his son, he trailed the well beaten road of depression with his son close behind him.

"Hachiman, I'm speaking to you."

He was wasn't he. Either I had purposefully ignored with my thoughts, or I simply did not hear him when I was reciting our rather pathetic situation. I personally believe that it was the latter, but I will never know. His very presence in the room had frozen my entire being and halted all train of thought coming out of Hachiman station.

"S-sorry father. Wh...what did you say?"

God I sounded like a total bitch right now. But what can I do? I'm completely immobilized. I believe they call it a "deer in the headlights" scenario. I've never seen a deer in headlights before, but if this is what they experience when they do, I'm not surprised at how the saying has made its way it society.

My father elicited from his lips a rather heavy sigh and once again projected that empty look of his onto me. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a normally sized envelope. It looked like one of those resignation letters you give to your boss when you've had enough of their shit. Perhaps he finally grew tired of being my so called "parent" and decided to turn in his two weeks notice. I really wouldn't be surprised if that was the case, and prepared myself for such a situation.

"I was saying that I forgot to give this to you in the morning, so I came to deliver it now."

He held out the envelope in mid air, obviously wanting me to take it into my grasp, and so thats what I did, but very shakily. It was obvious anyone to watching really, and being that almost everyone in the class was watching, everyone most likely noticed. I could almost hear the questions that circulated through their minds, things like, "Why is he shaking?" , or, "Is scared of him or something?" , or maybe even, "Is his father just as creepy as he is?". Hey guys, that last one was fairly insulting, so please stop.

When I finally managed to take the envelope, I took note that the front of it was not facing me. My hands still shaking, I flipped the envelope so that I could see what the hell it was that he was giving me. As soon as I saw what was written on the front, my hands ceased their shaking and my eyes slightly widened.

I see, so this is what he wanted to give to me. Another means to show that he still somewhat cared for me, as vain an attempt that it was. You cannot care for someone that you hate father, it simply isn't possible. You can give me things that I've always wanted, give me money that I don't need, and make my breakfast in the morning as horrible a cook that you are, but that will never show you care. You refuse to talk to me about what happened that night, refuse to acknowledge that the event even happened. How are we supposed to move on in our lives if you are so persistent in not acknowledging the past? In order to move forward you must learn from the mistakes in your pasts...and your tragedies. Yet when the topic has the slightest glimmer of light shed on it in the rare times that we speak, you immediately force yourself away. Father...if you cannot move on, then how can I as your son even hope to take the slightest step forward.

Our pain sings songs father, and those songs are drowning both of us in the memories, no the tragedies of our past. This past of ours is one that we must face head on, yet we cannot, we will not. Why? Because in order for us to do this, the other must be by their side, hand in hand as we face the problem that has stolen our lives.

You cannot hope to show that you care for me father, because you are not willing to put aside your hate and your blockade that you have wedged between us, to help us move on. No amount of material will give me the mindset that thinks things are alright.

I wish I could tell him these things, pour my every being, my entire soul into making you move on. However, I am a weak and broken man, and no longer have the strength to do so. Neither of us do. Perhaps we are doomed to wallow in our sorrows for the rest of our time on this wretched Earth that we live on; it's rather suitable to my cynicality.

Now it's my turn to heave a heavy sigh from my young, yet tired lips. The layer of figurative ice that once wrapped itself inside of me is now gone, melted away by a dark fire; a fire that wills me to make this man leave my sight before I inflict even more pain onto myself.

"Thank you father, I appreciate the you coming here to deliver this. Now if you would excuse me, I have a class I must attend."

I sound like a certain icy princess don't I?

My father didn't even bother to put a smile on his slightly wrinkled face, as he knew his message of "I still care" did not reach me. Instead, he opted to simply nod, and started towards the door, but stopped to bow to Shizuka first. As he reached the door he shot me a final empty glance, and walked out of the classroom, shutting the door behind him.

A breath left my body which acted to relieve me from the overwhelming emotions that I had just experienced. I noticed I was still holding my arm, and that the pain had subsided, offering me no comfort in it's departure. I would almost feel relaxed if it weren't for the fact that I still had to face my teacher. Looking towards her for a punishment, I was met instead with a face of understanding with a hint of worrying. Not surprising, as I told her things with my father were...well...were what had just happened.

"Hikigaya, see me at lunch."

I knew her asking this was not because I was to receive a punishment, but instead was to receive a conversation with a friend.

…

I'm still not used to calling her that...friend that is.

"Hai, sensei."

I provided her with a simple, but understandable response.

I made my way to my seat and remembered that I was still holding the envelope that my father gave me. I slightly scowled at the sight of it, smashing it inside of my bag, which earned me a few inquiring stares from my fellow classmates.

Go to hell you normalfags.

As I set my bag beside my table, I could clearly still see the envelope sticking out from the unzipped portion of my bag in which I had hoped to steal it from my sight.

The words on the front side of the envelope were also in clear view, perhaps acting to mock me.

Those words forced me to face the board where Shizuka was teaching, so I would not have the displeasure of seeing it.

Those words showed that my father thought he could buy my piece of mind. What a failure of an attempt that was, and he tried to do it every month. Perhaps he was just giving it to me so I could take care of myself because he couldn't. That's even more pathetic if you think about it.

Those words, "手当" , when translated read allowance.

You cannot buy me father.

You cannot buy the steps to move forward in life.

You simply have to take them.

And we both, cannot do that.

* * *

My fourth class breezed by in a very normal fashion. I took the norm amount of notes, and slept the rest of the class. Everyone else acted in their roundabout ways as well, sparing me no glances or words as per usual. I was about to make my way to buy lunch when I was approached by Ms. Y.

I really do not want to interact with you right now Yuigahama. Please just see yourself to club and eat lunch with that ice queen. You're not going to do that? Well shit.

"Ano...Hikki? That man was your father right?"

Why must you inquire about things? Do you not see that I am particularly stressed right now? I really, **really** do not want to discuss my personal life with you Yuigahama. I know what you are about to ask me, so please; do what all females do and read my mind: **Do not ask me.**

"Things seem kind of weird between you guys…are you alright?"

You just had to ask. You just had to go and take that mental crowbar of yours and pry into my life.

That's all they seem to do these days, Yukinoshita and Yuigahama I mean. All they do is try and question me about my life, and wonder if I'm alright; if their deaths have affected me in any way. Don't get me wrong, it's not like they're constantly asking questions, but it might as well be getting to that point.

When they first found out about what had occurred that fateful day, the questions were a rarity. Perhaps they were allowing me the grief period that every human deserved and needed. Then, as the months grew and our second year in high school came to a close, the interrogations began to rise exponentially in number.

First the questions came every other week, then every week. At this point I was already well into the art of the razor, so asking those questions ultimately lead to the temporary demise of both of my arms, and more than often my legs. Not only did I gain new scars, but I was also sent into a spiraling descent in which the end was the gaping hole of depression. If I can barely handle their names being spoken now, you can imagine the mental wars I went through then.

It did not stop at every week however. Eventually those weeks became days; every other day was when another questions would be asked, and then for a time it was in our conversations at least once every day. Once summer break came around, I refused to meet with them even once, in fear of them asking the same questions. And although the rate of cuttings that I committed did die down, it could basically be labeled the same. The only reason it did die down, is because that summer I began to work out, and like I said before, that took my mind off things, but only for a time.

One could say that they are one of the main causes for my scars, but I would reject that statement with a fiery passion.

It is not them who chose this way of grieving for me; it was me. They did not know that every time they asked a seemingly innocent question, it turned into something much more insidious. It's not their fault...I know that entirely. Still I cannot stay around people who constantly ask about an event that has scarred not just my mental state, but my physical state as well.

I could tell them what their questions lead to of course, but the horror that would be bestowed on their faces would not be something that I could handle. Not only that, but I know that they ask these questions with the simple fact that they care about me. That is why I cannot bring myself to hurt them with the knowledge that I hurt myself...because I do not want to hurt the people that I care for ever again...not after that day.

I know that I said that they would never care...but I always knew that they did. Perhaps if the events of my life after the incident unfolded in a different manner, I would find consolation in them. However, we are not in that scenario, so I am afraid I must stay my present course. And my present course will require me to once again do something drastic, but will be for the better of all three of us.

So Yuigahama, while I appreciate that you care for me and my well being, I cannot answer your question.

Likely noticing that I was being relatively quiet, Yuigahama appeared to take the question back with a few, simple words.

"Ah...I'm sorry. That's kinda personal isn't it?"

That's exactly it Yuigahama; it's personal. But this is not.

"Yuigahama...I-I'm going to be taking a little break from the club. I just need to relax a little and then I'll be back."

I could feel her sadness before I could see it. Her whole aura became this gloomy thing that no one should be subjected to. However, for the better of all of us, I need to do this.

"O-oh...I see…"

Please don't do this to me Yuigahama. It was painful enough to say it, and now to witness its immediate aftermath is even more painful.

In a probably futile effort to cheer her up, I placed my hand on her head and offered her a weak smile.

"Cheer up. I won't be gone for long, ok? I just...need to take a break for a while."

I could feel eyes on me, questions popping up in their minds as to why a creep such as myself was touching this innocent high school girl. At least I thought she was innocent, you never know if people are innocent or not these days. That's the beauty and the horror of the internet.

"A-alright...but you have to promise that you're not just going to disappear on us. That you're not doing some request again without us. That you're only going to relax."

The pleading was not only seeable in her words, but also her eyes as well. More than likely, her entire being was devoted to making sure that I was going to come back, and that I wasn't doing anything crazy. Unfortunately, Yuigahama, me "relaxing" is merely an excuse for me to slip away from the club; from the impending questions that are to be asked.

I silently removed my hand from her head and pulled it back to my side. Backing up rather slowly, I managed to get myself to the door while simultaneously sliding it open. Such is the perk of sitting in the very back seat by the door. Thank you Shizuka for this spot!

Before I walked out however, I still had to answer the little puppy that was begging me for reassurance.

"I promise Yuigahama. I promise."

I lied straight through my teeth.

* * *

I sat in a chair that was somewhat comfortable, just beside the workstation of my teacher.

The staff room, or rather, teacher's room, was like any other. Papers scattered across the long, sleek desks of the teacher's workstations, books stacked on top of those papers, and pens were numerous in a single cup that occupied a small space on any given workstation.

Shizuka sat across from me, obviously wanting to stuff a cigarette in her mouth. We had been talking about manga and anime for a while, sparing ourselves the occasional laughing spree, but eventually my teacher gathered around her an air of seriousness.

She was staring at me with her big, grey eyes; eyes that offered me comfort and a friend. A tremendous difference from the empty ones I had the displeasure of looking at in the morning.

"So you're doing okay? Apart from the obvious distance from your father that is."

Tch. Always have to smash a smart comment in every conversation we have don't you. I'd like to do that as well, but whenever I do I end up on the other side of the world due to this gorilla's nasty punch.

As soon as that thought crossed my mind she shot me a glare that could kill a thousand men, luckily; I'm used to these damn things, but it still sends chills throughout my entire body nonetheless.

"Well **obviously** I'm doing absolutely amazing, thank you for asking."

"My pleasure."

This woman.

"In all seriousness though; are you doing alright?"

That question caused me to think. Was I doing alright, everything considered? Apart from the cuts and the broken relationship between my father, am I really doing alright? Not really. Well I did just secure myself some time to be away from the prying questions of my clubmates, so maybe just a little.

"I'm getting by with life. Oh, and I told Yuigahama that I was going to take a break from the club, so there's that."

Did I just hear a sigh? Oh why yes, I did. It came from my teacher, probably disappointed that I took a break from my clubmates, rather than tell them my problems.

"I told you that you need to talk to them. How are they supposed to know that their questions are hurting you?"

Called that shit.

I leaned back in my chair and elicited a heavy sigh.

"What do you want me to tell them? Please stop asking questions because it makes me want to slice myself open?"

I could see her become immensely uncomfortable as I said that. She's known for awhile now, in fact she's the only one that knows, but I can understand that she's still not comfortable with it...at all. Guess I should apologize.

"Sorry I shouldn't have said it like that. It's just...they won't understand...they can't understand. And they look on their faces when I would tell them, I wouldn't be able to handle that."

At that, she slightly loosened up, allowing her to once again voice her opinion.

"You don't know what they've gone through in their lives Hachim-...Hikigaya. They could very well understand the pain that you've been through; the pain that you are going through."

She had a point, and an excellent one at that. However, I'm simply too weak to face them. This shattered mind of mine would not last through that conversation for more than a minute before I scrambled for a blade.

"It's not that easy Shizu-...sensei. It's just not that easy…"

She offered me a warming smile at my last statement, and started to pat my head.

"I know it's not Hac...Hikigaya. But promise me eventually you will talk to them."

Before I could attempt to answer her question, the bell that marked the end of lunch reverberated throughout the entire school, willing students to go back to their classes. Shizuka arose from her chair, and started to collect some teaching supplies.

"Well looks like it's time to head out. Remember Hach...for God's sake…. **Hikigaya** , make sure that you talk to them. You can't just leave them out of the dark for an eternity. Ok? I'll see you in class."

With that she gave me a final pat on the head and walked out of the teacher's room, leaving me alone in my somewhat, comfortable seat.

"I will Shiz...for the love of MAXX... **sensei.** "

Once again, I lied through my teeth.

* * *

The rest of the afternoon seemed to fly by with an amazing speed. I guess what they say is true: In your final year of high school, everything flies by twice as fast as it did the year before. Is that really what they say? It must be…

Packing the rest of my things I readied myself to walk to the special building and into the clubroom, only to stop myself. That's right...I'm taking a slight break. It feels odd doing this, it really does. A couple years ago, I would give anything not to attend that club, and now when I have the chance to not go...I simply want to go.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I don't want to go in the first place, no; that's not why I'm taking a break. I treasure the time that we three spend with each other. Each request that we solve together, each person that we help with one another's help. I'm not taking a break to leave that...I'm leaving the questions...leaving the constant reminders of that day...that horrible day.

I instead readied myself to leave but suddenly remembered something. I didn't tell **her.**

I can't handle the ridicule I would receive from her right now, even if it would be in the form of a joke.

I can't handle those piercing blue eyes that engulf you in the ice that makes their color.

I can't handle the face she would make.

I can't handle women at all can I?

I'll be sure to make it up to her when I have properly...properly what?

What am I hoping to achieve with this so called "break" of mine?

Am I merely recuperating for a while until I am ready to go back? And then what? Face the same questions? Face the same cuts? The same sight of blood?

What am I doing with my life?

Why am I writing so many question marks?

Wait what?

…?

I shook my head in order to disregard the thoughts currently circulating throughout my mentality. That last thought was definitely odd, if not, completely useless and of no relation to the others.

Holding one of my favorite pens in my right hand, I was starting to place it into my bag when I noticed that someone was standing beside me to my left.

Long, blonde hair beautifully flowed down her body to meet the arch of her back. Two of her signature curls...well curled down the sides of her neck and rested themselves on her chest. When you observed her face, you could obviously tell that she was a natural beauty, and anyone, man or woman, could get lost in the sea of green that was her eyes.

Yes, standing to my side was Miura Yumiko.

And she was obviously upset.

"Hikio! I'm talking to you!"

Demanding I guide myself back to reality, I instinctively snapped back into the world of the living.

"H-huh? I'm sorry Miura, what were you saying?"

Anger was mixed with annoyance at my response, and I was subjected to both hells.

"Ugh. Does your small and creepy eyes make your hearing range small too?"

That's not nice Miura-chan. You hurt my feelings Miura-chan.

Before I could even muster a response, she began stating why she was disturbing my peace.

"Whatever, that doesn't matter."

It matters to me!

"I'm here to talk about why you're being so mean to Yui."

Ah...that does make sense. She was probably listening to our conversation, though you would have to see it more than hear it if you think I was being mean to her.

"She's been all sad and gloomy lately, and whenever she's like that it's usually your fault. There was a time when she was like this too, last year."

Yes, last year. When the other two service club members confronted me on my methods. I had gotten rid of using them for a time, but then the...incident happened. I'm currently using those methods right now, so it would more than likely hurt her. But if I don't do this, all of us, especially me, will keep hurting. You will keep prying, and I will keep getting farther, and farther away from you two.

If one would focus enough, they could tell that the pen in my right hand was slowly getting squeezed.

"Do you not like her anymore or something?"

No, that's not it...

-The grip was tightened-

"N-"

"Do you not want to be her friend anymore?"

I never said that!

-Ink began leaking from the top-

"Tha-"

"Does she mean nothing to you now?"

Why would you say that?!

-Cracks began to form-

"Are you just going to throw her away?"

" **NO!** "

-The pen broke in half-

My outburst caused the few remaining people in the class, Miura, and myself to jump.

"I'm not trying to do any of those things!"

I protested to her with a fierceness I've not seen in myself for some time.

"...I'm..not doing any of those things…"

My voice lowered itself, and my entire being began to relax. My mind stopped all train of thought, and my muscles seemed to loosen.

Weird...I only get this feeling when I c-

"Hey you're bleeding!"

Miura announced to me with a certain haste in her voice. I looked at to where the pleasure was coming from and witnessed a slightly stomach churning scene. Chips of my favorite pen had seemingly lodged themselves into my hand, tearing through my skin and a some muscle tissue. Doing this let forth a wild amount of blood to pour from my hand on onto my bag, the ink of the pen following after it.

Miura had obviously expected me to do something, however; I was simply immobile, the pain numbing my thoughts and worries. I didn't move because I couldn't.

"What are you doing! You're bleeding for God's sake!"

Seeing that I was doing absolutely nothing, she grabbed my hand that wasn't bleeding and dragged my drugged ass to the nurse's office.

* * *

What an afternoon.

The nurse gently, but firmly wrapped the last of the medical bandage around my right hand.

"You should be fine for now Hikigaya-san, but please refrain from any physical activity with your hand for at least a week."

W...what?! But sensei! H-how will I masturbate! It just flops around when I use my left hand…

Maybe...you could help me sensei…?

…

If I cut myself for that I think I would deserve it...for the sheer stupidity.

"Hai sensei. Thank you very much."

I wearily smiled at her.

"But Hikigaya-san, must I say, you have a very surprising tolerance to pain."

You don't even know sensei.

"Hehe...I've had my share of painful memories."

The sensei arched an eyebrow at that but then traded it for an understanding smile. If you can even have one of those.

"I suppose we all have. Well I must be going now, I have a teacher meeting to attend to, and I'm already late."

"Sorry for making you late sensei."

"No, no. Don't be. Just make sure you don't over due it with that hand of yours and you'll be fine."

"Hai, sensei."

"Now you two don't do anything...scandalous while I'm away okay?"

You two? Ah...I forgot that Miura was still here. She was sitting across from me and had a disgusted look on her face.

"Please sensei, don't be ridiculous."

The nurse responded with a shake of her head as well as her departure.

Well now it's turned quite awkward in here.

"Thanks for bringing me here."

"Seriously, can you not walk? You were just sitting there like you were enjoying it. Creep."

Well sorry that I enjoy my pain. It comes with experience.

"But..a-are you alright?"

I looked over at where she was sitting, which wasn't far, and raised my eyebrow.

"D-don't get me wrong okay! I don't care if you're hurt or not...you're just Hikio."

I could feel a sweat drop roll down the side of my face.

Sorry for just being Hikio you damn tsundere.

"I have to text my mom real quick. Let me know if you're feeling okay so we can leave."

I offered her a simple nod of my head.

I wish I could text my mom…

Almost as if it acted like a cue, the thought of my mother brought a surge of pain throughout my body.

I grabbed my right arm so tight I once again could feel the blood trailing down my forearm.

"Alright are you fe-...hey you're bleeding again!"

She began to move closer to me, making me instinctively stand up and move away from her.

"D-don't come closer."

If she did, she would see these scars...someone no one, not even Shizuka has seen before.

"Don't spout nonsense, you're bleeding! We have to treat it Hikio."

Once again, she began taking steps towards me, resulting in me taking steps away from her.

"I said don't come closer Miura!"

She refused, a fire in her eyes, likely to discover as to why I didn't want her to come anywhere near me.

My lower back hit the counter behind me offering me no space to back away. Miura was practically against my body, offering me no route of escape.

"Don't. Go. Anywhere."

Slightly backing up, she grabbed my forearm, causing me to wince in pain. This in turn made Miura especially suspicious.

Bringing her right hand to the brim of my sleeve, she began unbuttoning the cuff, but did not do it all the way, as if she was trying to confirm something.

When she saw my reaction, her eyes began to dilate to a considerable degree. Then, as if she had found a passion in rolling up my sleeve, she aggressively unbuttoned by cuff.

"Miura...please...don't…"

"Shut up Hikio. I'm confirming something."

"What is there to confirm…"

"I said shut up Hikio!"

As she said that, she momentarily shot me a glare, and then returned to her work.

When she unbuttoned the cuff I grabbed her right hand with my left and looked her in the eyes.

"Please Miura...you're not going to like what you see."

Slapping my hand away, she continued to roll up my sleeve until the whole of my arm was revealed.

Dozens of scars were what she was introduced to, as well as the most recent of cuts.

Vulnerability is an understatement when compared to how I felt.

I felt as if the secrets of my life, every painful memory, every tear that fell from my eyes, to the incident were abruptly revealed to her. I felt so embarrassed to the point that it turned into shame. I felt like I was a fugitive finally caught by the police.

Miura however…

She was not shocked…

She was not horrified…

I did not know what she was.

All she was doing was simply staring at my scars as if they were zoo animals in a cage. This felt incredibly uncomfortable.

"C...could you not stare at them?"

What am I, an anime girl whose boobs are being stared down by the guy she likes?!

"Why…"

Why? Did she just say why?

"What?"

"I said...why? Why do you cut?"

At that moment that she asked that question, my world froze.

The wind no longer howled, the trees no longer swayed...the grass no longer grew.

My mind simply repeated those words...those four...simple...words…

 _ **Why**_

 _ **Do**_

 _ **You**_

 _ **Cut?**_

It was a simple question really. Just like most things in life are.

Why is there war?

Why is there a universe?

Why is there death?

The answers...they are are simple.

Because nations don't like each other.

Because of God, the Big Bang, it simply exists.

Because we die.

But once you dig, those answers become even more complex and layered than one could even begin to imagine.

Such is the same with the answer to her question.

Why do I cut?

Because of the incident.

Because of Komachi.

Because of Mother.

Because of Father.

Because of me…

She wouldn't understand this however. And I am not prepared to tell her. Why should she know? Of all people that I know, why should she? What has she done for me? Nothing.

"You wouldn't understand. You just wouldn't."

I rolled down my sleeve and buttoned my cuff, allowing me to once again put a lock on all of my secrets. I began to walk to the door when I was halted by what my fellow classmate decided to confess.

"I do understand...I really do."

She walked to where she was standing in front of me and began to roll up her sleeve.

That's...impossible.

"It's not. Look."

Not realizing I said that out loud, I asked permission to touch her with my eyes. In return, a smile was what I took as a yes.

Gently cradling her right arm in my left hand, I took my right hand and began to slowly move it down her arm. I couldn't help but notice that she had a slight blush on her face, which traveled through our point of contact and made me turn slightly red as well.

Turning my attention back to her arm, I focused my eyesight.

She had scars.

They were old, very in fact, but they were still there.

I stood there for a while, slightly staring at them, taking in that I had truly met someone that had committed the same act as I had.

Not wanting to make her uncomfortable like she did me, though understandable now, I gently released her arm and she thankfully brought it to her side.

Maybe she does understand...perhaps she is the only person that will understand.

Have I finally found someone that understand my situation?

Have I finally met someone that can guide me in the right direction?

"Can you tell me why now?"

She had a serious face on, but not one that intimidated me into not answering her question.

I suppose since she has done it too, she will listen. That since she will listen, she will not judge. That since she will not judge, she will understand.

I turned around and motioned for her to follow, making sure she did not take my movement as a no to her question.

Walking towards the window, I leaned against it, and looked up at the sky.

The autumn wind flowed through my hair like it did to the leaves down below.

The trees swayed as if they were dancing to the song of the wind.

I looked back at Miura who was looking back at me. A sea of green met a pack of wild, grey, wolves.

After all those months of not saying a word, I will finally tell my story to someone who will understand.

It's refreshing.

"I suppose I owe you that for bringing me here."

I gave her a smile after I said that.

But it was not weary.

It was strong.

Because I was ready…

Ready to take,

 _ **My first step forward.**_

* * *

 **Ello there chaps. Hope you liked this chap. AHAHA….haha..sorry.**

 **So obviously, there was a lot to write in this chapter. However, don't expect all the other chapters to be this long. Now I know some of you do not take particularly well to the cuttting part of this story, so don't worry, no more explicit things of that nature. However, I have no remorse to those of you who fail to realize what the cutting represents, and essentially, what it means. There was a lot I explained in this chapter, if only you look into the text. As for explicit explanations on the "incident", that's coming next chapter. I'm warning you though, Hachiman "killing" his sister and mother isn't some grand event. It means a lot, but it's not a lot, you get it?**

 **I introduced the main set of characters in this chapter, and had to show you their interaction to show their current status, and how it will improve as the story progresses. For you Yukino fans, wait your damn turn. She's coming...I think. I'll have to check with my mind later on.**

 **Also, I'm considering bumping the rating up to M for the language in here, so let me know if I should do that or not, it would help me out greatly.**

 **Time for some review responses….yaayyyy**

 **RalphZiggy: Why thank you sir! I've been beta reading for a while now, and wanted to write myself. Let me just tell you, it's immensely easier.**

 **Abulkabul27: Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, and I respect yours. I also happen to think that your stories are bullshit. Oh wait, you've not written any? Not surprising.**

 **Amused Archer: If I could write erotica...then hell yes there would be. It might be coming on latter in the story..oops...my tongue slipped.**

 **KairuG: You're edgy. Get wrekt m8.**

 **TheLaughingStalk Lenny-Kun: Yes, in this story he is self-conscious and afraid, but only after the incident happened. Self-conscious of what he has done, and afraid to tell anyone about it. Like I said in the top, 8man is slightly changed, but all his core values remain.**

 **Next Chapter will be out sometime next week.**

 **That's it Goodbye. :D**


	3. Change is Coming

**DISCLAIMER**

This Chapter was written over two years ago, and reflects a writing style that I have changed tremendously. I encourage you to read it for the sake of the plot, but do not be surprised when the writing style changes in the next chapter.

* * *

 _ **Chapter 2**_

 _ **Change is Coming**_

* * *

I remember that day well.

I remember it well not because of what happened that day, but because it was like any other day.

A day where the the wind sang it songs like any other.

A day where the trees would sway to those songs.

A day where the grass would flow like locks of hair when touched by that cool, spring air.

It was the final day that my world still hold color in it, instead of having a bleak black and white atmosphere like it does now.

And it was on this day that was subject to the norm of days, that my life would suddenly be violently tossed about, bringing chaos and precarious things into it, like never before.

* * *

All was the same in the Hikigaya household, adding yet another factor of normality to the day.

I was sitting about on my usual chair, at the usual time. Komachi had already made breakfast, and was sitting next to me, rather close as she always did. The original reason for our proximity, was merely to watch my reactions as she performed various acts that would embarrass me. In time however, we both grew use to it. Perhaps it acted as a physical representation of how close we were to each other emotionally, as my sister and I had a bond that was unlike any other.

The only thing that would contribute towards a rift in normality that day, was the presence of my mother at the dining table. I haven't told you this before, but my mother was a very busy person. She was a senior editor in a publishing company, and a very influential company at that.

I say it was very influential, because it was. It not only had influential ties here at home, but also in the international community. The reason for this, was because it was a publishing company for journalists, journalists whose words carried weight all across the world, hence the international scale of the company, but they always made sure to include Japan as well.

They published small, local things like the closing of shopping districts in favor of malls, to national things like the protestation of American military bases in Okinawa, and the mainland. Then there was the inter-

I'm getting off track aren't I?

In short, my mother worked for a company that had an immense amount of pressure on it, so in turn, there was an immense amount of pressure on her as well. However, this didn't faze her in the slightest.

She loved her job with a passion that was so rare in that field of work. I once called her a corporate slave, but voided that term once she spilled out her day of work with a fire in her eyes, a good kind of fire.

That's the kind of person my mother was; she dedicated herself to whatever she did, and always found a way to posses a liking to it; she was really something else, that woman. It was with this passion however, that indirectly contributed to the incident.

My mother was in charge of a many people due to her position as senior editor. She overlooked junior editors, proofreaders, and even writers themselves. She made quite an earning doing it too, but that's besides the point.

With overseeing a relatively larger portion of people than a human should, she had to travel to a larger amount of locations as well. Of course, one could ask her as to why she opted to travel to these locations rather than simply pick up a phone and call them, after all, we are in the intelligence era.

But that's just not the kind of person that my mother was.

She valued face-to-face meetings rather than ones conducted over the phones. There were times that she had to use the phone of course, but more often than not, she rushed to meet her subordinates when she had a say in the matter. This was due to her passion as well as her personality, and this, as I said before, contributed to the incident.

Just how did it contribute you ask? Well it's very simple.

She fractured her leg.

That's why she was at the dining table that day. A cast on her leg, and a frown on her face accompanying her. She was practically yelling at us how she could still go on with her work, and that she had so much to do. The result of this was the weary smiles that stuck to both me and my sister's face.

How did she fracture her leg? Why, it's a rather effortless explanation.

She got hit by a car.

Yes, you heard me right, so don't give me that shocked expression.

Yes I know it's rather surprising, but still, allow me to explain.

She was traveling to the location of one of her junior editor's, since in her hands she held fairly important manuscript that my mother had to obtain. There was a significant amount of traffic on that day, so she had to walk the few amount of blocks away that the location was. On her way however, she was struck by a car, hard enough to fracture her leg, yet soft enough not to give her any life threatening complications. This injury would have a great say in the incident that day, albeit once again indirectly.

Back to the present, or rather the present in the past, yet another major factor in the incident showed itself through the sharp, shuddering sound of lighting.

My mother ceased in her attempts of trying to curse her doctor, and moved her head to the window with both me and my sister.

The soft song of the wind quickly turned into a ear shattering howl, and the trees responded in kind by wanning their branches back and forth as if they were attempting to cover their non-existent ears.

While my sister and I began a conversation between ourselves about how bipolar the weather had been that week, my mother came to a grave realization. The manuscript that she had fractured her leg for was still currently in her possession, and was due at the publishing office that very day. I, being the reasonable one, told her that it was too late to do anything about it, as she was in no condition to drive.

She responded by agreeing with me, which only momentarily caused me to relax, until I tensed as she spoke her next thought.

"But you can."

Is what she said to me.

That was definitively true, as I had obtained a learner's permit not long ago. But I know the reason she told me I could drive was only due to me driving being legal, and not due to my actual skills. On the rare occasions that I could drive, I did just fine, but she acted as if she failed to see that it was storming outside.

The moment I tried in vain to mention that to her, she started to assault me with her crutches until I was in the driver's seat of my mother's car, with her struggling, yet managing to place herself in the passenger seat. And before I knew it, I was waving to Komachi, and driving down our street while my mother kept reminding me of the importance of the manuscript.

With her in my ear, and my inexperience with driving in that kind of weather, it was obvious to anyone that it was inevitable to happen.

I learned about it in a driving class once, and it didn't occur to me at all that I might face it so soon.

Hydroplaning.

I didn't see the humongous pool of water, not even after the crash happened; how could I? With the continuous dropping of water on the windshield, and myself trying to ignore my mother's ramblings and focus on the road, there was no way I could have seen it.

I lost control before I even noticed, and when I did, my world came to a complete halt.

Everything flashed before my eyes, **everything.**

The Service Club.

Yukinoshita.

Yuigahama.

Sensei.

Father.

Mother.

Komachi.

Everything.

Everything that I held dear, everything that I've ever experienced, everything that I took pride in showed itself to me in the form of hasteful memories appearing one at a time. I didn't want to die, yet I was going to. I often said nobody would miss me, but I found it surprising that I would miss them, that I was not yet ready to part with them.

I didn't want to die.

I **really** did not want to die.

I didn't know those would be such selfish thoughts. I swear I didn't.

Yet I thought them.

And I thought them to the moment my world turned black.

That moment.

The moment that I would never see my mother again.

…

…

No, I can keep going. We aren't finished yet anyways, it would be useless to stop here.

...

As you can imagine, the next time I opened my eyes I was in a hospital. I was sure that it was the same one that I had been at the start of our first year in this high school.

Stick with me, because from this memory on, everything went by in a flash.

The moment I woke up, a nurse called upon a doctor to come into my room immediately. It was also in this moment that I noticed Komachi sleeping soundly on my bed, just next to my thigh.

She looked beautiful when she slept, I already knew that. Perhaps it was just me being overjoyed that she was there with me, that made me realize her beauty once more. I didn't have much time to admire it though, because just seconds later the doctor came in with news that stunned me to a degree that I was sure Komachi had already experienced.

My mother was dead.

He began to go through the details of how she died, but I wasn't listening...no I think a more accurate statement would be that I couldn't listen.

My head was swirling with thoughts of why my mother was taken from me, about how I told her that it wasn't a good idea from the start, and most of all, about how selfish I was currently being for being happy that I was alive., when the woman that gave birth to me was dead.

In that moment when nothing reached my ears, and no person seemed to materialize in front of me, the only thing relevant was my thought of my mother being dead, and myself being glad that I was still on this appalling Earth of ours.

It was in that moment, that ever desperate moment, that I had truly convinced myself that my mother would never forgive me for thinking those selfish thoughts.

…

I'm not done yet. It's almost over.

… I know I'm crying. I completely understand that, but this is good for me. Trust me. Speaking to someone who actually understands my pain is now a luxury I can afford, and I intend on milking it for all that it's worth.

…

I returned home not long after the crash, and as soon as I did, the atmosphere surrounding our remaining family members was one that could only be described as pathetic.

We all refused to discuss what had happened, and my father began the endless spiral of burying himself in his work. He had not yet began to do so in drinking, but that would inevitably follow after the next, tragic event unfolded in our already splintered lives.

…

If one viewed our family then, they would probably be able to tell that it would happen at some point, to one of us at least.

You see, my father and I were like we were now, albeit slightly less worse off. Simply put, we were shells of our former selves, and avoided talking about the crash as much as possible. Back then, we still had some conversations that didn't involve so much drama as it does now, but that was only because of Komachi.

She was the only thing that we had left. She was the bridge that held the family together, but that bridge was quickly being deteriorated.

My father and I were basically hollow inside, and Komachi took note of this daily. Everyday she would try and pressure us into actually talking about what happened, but in every instance that she did, she failed. Komachi was our bridge, but she was not strong enough to carry the burden of both her father and brother; but could you blame her?

She was still in middle school; still had so much life ahead of her; had so much things to do, things to enjoy. To come home and throw that all away so she could essentially take care of her fractured family, was like asking a woman to admit that she was wrong; it was simply impossible.

It was this massive amount of pressure on her, and both my father and I's unwillingness to discuss the crash, that lead her to take a drastic measure. She simply just couldn't handle all the things that my father and I had forced onto her, and honestly, I didn't blame her.

But what was that drastic measure?

…

This is the hardest part of the story.

It wasn't exactly my mother's death that lead me to cut. Obviously, it did have a big impact on me, and lead me into the abyss that is depression, but it was what Komachi did, and what happened to her, that left me rushing for tools of self-harm.

…

….

She ran away. And when she did, she got hit by a car, a truck to be precise.

It was on the same street.

With the same weather.

And had the same result.

She died.

When I realized that she ran away, I was just in time to see the truck hit her, and in turn, see the aftermath.

…

She was squirming about, clutching at my shirt once I kneed down at her side. She began spewing lines about how both me and my father had to snap out of the current state that we were in, and that she just couldn't handle the pressure that we had put on her soul.

She said that she didn't blame me or father, but wished that it would have turned out different; wished that our lives could return to the normality of all others.

With her last dying breath, she managed a few, simple words.

"I love you, Onii-chan."

Is what she said to me.

After all of that she still loved me; it was so Komachi. It was just like her to forgive someone, and still love them even if she didn't.

But I knew I didn't deserve that love. Because to me it was plain and simple as to why she died.

Because of me. Because of my helplessness. My unwillingness. My constant decision not to face my problems.

So instead of facing yet another one of my problems, that is, the fact that I had killed Komachi and essentially my mother as well, I did something that they both would not have wanted.

I hid those problems behind a blade, behind a scar.

And eventually that scar turned into many, and that many turned into many more, and more, and more, and more.

…

You know.

On the day of the crash, my mother had commented on how she would soon rather die than miss that manuscript.

When I remembered that, I almost laughed at the irony.

'

* * *

"Hikio! Oi! I'm talking to you."

Reeling myself back into reality from wherever the hell that place was, I still could feel that feeling I had after the final sentence of my explanation was spewed from my lips.

"Hikio, seriously. If you don't look at me when I'm talking to you, I won't' hesitate to punch you."

Deciding that I should not test that statement, I turned to face my fellow classmate, but when I did, the feeling that was still resonating in my body rocketed to incredible levels.

What...was this?

This...audacious feeling?

Maybe it'-

"HIKIO!"

Before I could even formulate the last part of that thought, I saw a harrowing sight before my eyes.

Miura was standing in front of me holding an object that should not be in this room. I mean I know it's a nurse's room, but come on! Who puts an object like this in a school with unstable kids like me? And what about the crazy people like the blonde standing before me? What kind of shady shit is going on in this school that they had to put two syringes with needles the size of my hand in the nurse's room?!

"M-Miura...why do you have those syringes..no, I think the real question is what are you going to do with them?"

Silence. She didn't respond to me at all.

She traded that response for a step forward.

Wait...a step forward?

Responding to her step with one of my own, backwards that is, I continued in my questioning of her actions.

"Miura...what are you doing?"

Forward a step, back one.

"Miura-san...please tell me what you plan to do with those!"

Again a step forward, but no step back.

I looked behind me for space to backup freely once again, but was horrified when I came to the conclusion that the counter was once again halting me in my efforts to escape Miura.

Oh yay! There's a girl slowly coming towards me while my body is against a counter. And it's in the nurse's room nonetheless! Oh HAPPY DAY!

Screw that!

That girl slowly coming towards me is not only slightly crazy, but has two colossal syringes in her hand, which shouldn't even be here in the first place, which brings me back to asking why they are here in the first place! But I don't have time to think about that because she's slowly encroaching on my position, and I have nothing to defend myself. This is the USS Hikigaya requesting naval support on my POS!

Noticing the beginning stages of panic flashing across my face and body, Miura slowly began to bring the needles of the syringes up to my neck, and in turn, also began to make her eyes glow a neon green.

"Hikio...If you ever ignore me again…"

She stopped talking for a few seconds for what I can only assume was dramatic effect, and God did it work.

"I'll **kill you** , okay?"

Shock and fear still fresh in my body, I barely managed to muster out a response.

"H..H-Hai…Miura-san…"

…

Silence.

Then laughter; very hard laughter.

Miura began laughing so hard that she had to hold her sides. I, as you can probably imagine, was slightly less amused.

Breathing out heavily, I rested myself against the counter of the nurse's room while my classmate continued on laughing.

"Y...You...s-should..h..have seen y-your fac..face! I-it was so f-funny!"

Is what she managed in between the intervals of laughter she had going on.

"I happen to think that it was nowhere near funny."

Was my response.

Gradually, Miura began to slow her laughter, until it turned into mere giggles, and eventually, a smiling face. She must have seen my face when she stopped, because she began to pout at it.

Cute.

Wait, what? No it's not.

"Oh come on Hikio, it wasn't that bad."

"Yes the hell it was! You had a needle up to me neck! And it was huge!"

That reinstated her laughter, as she began to relive my face of horror and proceeded to laugh at it some more.

Growing tired of being laughed at by Miura, I decided that I would have my revenge.

Quickly grabbing one of the syringes that Miura dropped when she began laughing, I held it in the air for both of our fields of view, but mainly for hers.

"So it's that funny huh…"

Slowly halting the train of laughter that had slammed into Miura's face, she began to fully take notice of the object I was currently holding in the grip of my left hand, as I still could not use my right.

Her face turned from one of genuine entertainment into that of horror.

"Hikio...um..I'm really sorry you know. It was just a joke."

She desperately tried to convey to me while nervously chuckling.

A smirk formed on my face once I realized her slowly growing fear. She obviously saw it too, as she began to slowly back up, and myself slowly advancing.

It was now my turn to be the predator, and for her to be the prey.

"Oh, so it was just a joke?"

"Y-yeah! It was just a joke! I swear!"

Still backing up, and me still advancing to keep up, she eventually fell back onto the one of the beds in the nurse's room, and made a small yelp because of it.

I couldn't help but think that it was ridiculously cute.

Quicking up my pace, she continued to back up until she was leaning against the wall, a look of fear still evident on her now pale, face.

A few moments later, I was on the bed myself with my left knee on the firm, yet comfortable material, and my right leg standing tall on the cemented floor.

My left hand, still having a firm grip on the syringe, was gradually making its way to Miura's neck, and my right hand held steady on the wall, and was also incredibly close to her face.

As for Miura, her hands were slightly closed, and were close to her chest. Her legs were sideways, and pulled somewhat near to her core. Her expression was one of nervousness and fear.

Of course, I wasn't aware of what our current positions could be interpreted as, because I was too focused on exacting my vengeance.

"Got you. It's not so funny when it's the other way around , is it?"

"Um...Hikio. C-can you move please?"

This woman. She thinks that she can do all that to me and expect me to just stop my revenge with some stuttering lines?

"Oh no. I'm not going anywhere. This is what you get for doing all that to me."

"It's not that...I-it's how you're positioned…"

What? Trying to make excuses are we? Well that's not going to wor-

How I'm positioned?

I took a moment to fully survey what we currently looked like, and when I did, it shocked me so much that I dropped the syringe onto the floor. Thank God the body of it was plastic, otherwise at the height that it was dropped, it would most definitely have broke.

"S-sorry. I'll move."

Is what I said, but is not what I did, for it was at that moment that the nurse decided she was going to come back into the room.

Oh God.

"Oi. Are you two students still in...here…"

Her voice slowed and her sentence completely broke apart as she took in the sight of Miura and I in our rather, compromising positions.

Then, a smirk formed on her lips.

"I said to do nothing scandalous, didn't I?"

Immediately I pushed myself off the wall, and stood up so straight you could say I was at the position of attention.

Thumbs on the outside of your fist? Check.

Thumbs behind the seam of my pants? Check.

Feet at a 45 degree angle? Check.

It was confirmed: I was at the position of attention ladies and gentlemen.

Miura decided that she would join me in the military pose, and had no objection to voicing the truth of the situation. Good, because I was in no condition to do so myself.

"We weren't doing anything scandalous, sensei!"

That's right!

I nodded my head along with her statement.

"Hikio was assaulting me with a syringe, sensei!"

Yeah!

Another nod.

Wait, no!

I turned towards Miura, and expressed my innocence.

"What?! You did it first! And you had two!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Wha-You little!

"Oh you can't be serious. You had them at my neck!"

At this point, Miura had begun to take more interest in her nails, then telling the sensei the truth.

"Just tell her the truth already Hikio."

Wh-Yo-I-lkdjfdljsdkfwldkfj!

I held my finger up to Miura's face.

"You! Stop lying!"

After saying that, I then swung my arm around so that my finger was now pointing at the teacher.

"And you, sensei!"

The nurse looked quite surprised that I was pointing at her, and looked over her shoulder to double check that I was talking to her.

"Why are there these giant syringes in here?!"

"I can't tell you."

Instant response?!

Seeing the shock on my face, the nurse let out a giggle, and then proceeded to seriously answer me.

"If you look, those needles don't have tips on them. They're merely used for transferring medicine to other bottles and the like. But I suppose if you really wanted to kill your girlfriend, you could use them."

That last part was really unnecessary sensei.

To my left I heard a scoff. I know that scoff. She's about to say something bitchy.

"Ugh, I am **not** that creep's girlfriend! The day he gets a girlfriend is the day when we send people to Mars."

Called it, called it so good.

The sensei was slightly intrigued as to why she called me a creep, so she opted to ask Miura.

Bad move, for me at least.

"Why is he creepy?"

Miura took no time in answering her question.

"Because he's Hikio."

There goes my self-esteem.

When I thought of my self-esteem, I noticed that it wasn't actually going down, which was rare.

Whenever Yukinoshita would degrade me like this, I would actually begin to believe in it, but when Miura does it, it's not that bad at all. I wonder why…

Before I could delve any deeper into those thoughts, the nurse notioned for us to exit the room with her words.

"Well lovebirds, as much as I'd like to hear more about your relationship problems, it's gotten pretty late, and you should go on home."

Wanting to deny that Miura and I had a relationship for problems to stem from, I was unable to due to her gradually pushing me out of the room and into the hallway. She probably wanted to get out of that room forever, and I was no exception to that feeling.

"Again, thank you for patching up my hand sensei, I really appreciate it."

She merely nodded her head and sent us on our way, which we did very willingly.

As we left, I could swear I heard her say,

"Now where the hell are those syringes."

* * *

Saying that Miura and I were walking side by side was an overstatement, as we were both at least 3 feet apart from one another, probably both wanting to stay away from each other's touch after we had an overload of it.

We were grabbing our outdoor shoes out of our locker when she finally spoke up. It's a good thing she did. I may not be one for talking all the time, but even I can tell when there is an awkward silence, and I can't say that I like them.

"Ano...Hikio."

As I finished slipping on my outdoor shoes, I stood up to face her. She was putting on a fairly serious face, and I could tell that she wanted to say something that would have an impact on me.

"Hai?"

"Give me your phone number."

Yep, that definitely had an impact on me.

Hold on, what?

My face was one of utter shock and surprise, I mean, who wouldn't. The goddess, other than Yukinoshita, of the third years had just asked me for my phone number. If that doesn't put a shock on your face, then I don't know what would.

"Come again?"

Obviously aware of my expression, she quickly spoke so she could clear up any misunderstandings.

"Don't get the wrong idea Hikio. I'm simply asking so that you can have someone you can talk to if you want to think twice about doing it."

My face still held the shock and surprise, but this time for a completely different reason.

Someone was offering me help? Other than Shizuka, no one else has ever done that. But why would she? She has no ties or responsibility, nothing pertaining to having anything to do with my bad self, yet here she was, offering it to me like it was an everyday thing for her.

Doing what all women are seemingly able to do, she read my mind and answered that question with her next sentence.

"I've been through what you've been through. I didn't really get to offer my words when you told me your story when we were in the nurse's office, so I'll do it now."

Facing her with a serious expression of my own, I stood up straight and tall, ready for the ridicule that I was sure to come.

However, no ridicule was received.

I got a hug, yes that's right; I got a hug from Miura.

And it felt great.

I, being the gentlemen that I am, returned the hug, slowly wrapping my arms around her, although a little lightly, as I was still taking in the fact that I was hugging Miura Yumiko.

A few silent moments later, she began speaking to me.

 _ **If only I knew how much those words would change my life that day.**_

"I can't say that my story is exactly the same as yours, but I've been through that pain, that depression. I know how it eats at you, how it consumes you whole. How you feel like everyone will judge you, ridicule, and abuse you because of it. You know that it's wrong, yet you still do it. People tell you that you simply have to stop; just put down the razor and stop, but that is impossible. Why?

Because it's you only way out. You feel like you have no one else to turn to, that you are alone...that the world is against you. But there is always somewhere is there that is willing to support you, to be your strength."

She gently pulled out of our very first, and very rare embrace. Then, she placed both of her hands softly on my shoulders that were somewhat above her immediate line of sight, but not that much.

"And if you do that, you will be able to stand up on your own two feet, and survive anything that the world throws at you. So eventually, you will find that person, and that person will light the darkness that has engulfed your path."

Inspirational.

That's exactly the word I would use when I heard those words come out of Miura's mouth. I never knew that the blonde could speak like that, and in turn, also had knowledge that they would make me feel so...encouraged. So motivated. But how long would it take me to find this person? Would I just wallow in my sorrows until I found that person?

Once again, my thought process was interrupted by the goddess in front of me.

"That being said, until that person shows up, you can call me if you need someone to talk to. I'm not going to be your strength, because that's just gross, but I'd be happy to give you a way out if you need it. So actually, I need to give you my phone number, so give me your phone already."

Can you stop being bitchy for five minutes please?

Obliging to her commands, I handed her my phone in which she proceeded to input her phone number in the overflowing amount of contacts I had in there. Seriously, I'm just so famous these days.

"You have like no people in your phone. You're such a loner."

Thanks for blowing my cover there Miura, now all these people know that I'm not actually popular!

I want to punch myself.

"Anyways, here."

She held out my phone, and I took it back gladly. I get phone-separation anxiety, did you know that? Yeah I didn't thank that I would either, but when I got a phone, I kept getting mini panic attacks when I couldn't find it, and when I did find it, it was literally in plain sight. Such bullshit if you ask me. Of course no one would ask me, because as Miura said, I'm a loner.

…

Ah, I didn't need that self-esteem, no that's totally fine. I can live without it.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"Well maybe I should tell you my story, you know, since you told me yours. I'll tell you how I got my strength and all that."

Actually, I didn't know, but you just told me, so now I know, you know? What? I don't know.

Where is my cynicality?

"What story?"

I tensed as I heard that voice. All my nostalgic feelings of cynicality came flowing back into my veins, making me want to slit them open.

There he is, that human mound of expectations. He is the very definition of cynical: acting the way he does just to please the expectations of others. If you look up the dictionary definition of cynical, it might sound like the opposite of that. However, if you look deeper into that facade that he puts up, you'll see that he's nothing but cynical. Whether that's his choice or not, I can tell you it most definitely is. You can defy a person's expectations at any time, but he's satisfying his need to please people, and puts up a fake smile while doing it.

It truly sickens me.

Hiding my face of disgust once he came into view, I could clearly see Hayama Hayato in my field of vision, and obviously, Miura saw his in her's. She light up like a lamp once she saw him, and I could slowly feel myself crawl back into the hole of depression. As to why I was out of it in the first place, I did not know, but what I did know, is that I was aching to delve into it once more. Perhaps it was because Hayama's cynicality reminded me of my own, and that disgusted me to a heightened degree.

It was my cynical thoughts of being happy that I was alive when my mother was dead that made me depressed in the first place, and that cynicality also brought Komachi to death, albeit indirectly.

I never thought about how Komachi would feel when I acted how I did at home, and because of that, I had driven her away, and ultimately, had a hand in her harrowing death, which was still engraved into my memory.

Not being a surprising feat, I quickly grabbed my arm as the thoughts of my mother and sister came flooding back into my mind, the dam being broken once more. Almost as if on cue, blood began flowing effortlessly down my arm, and to my surprise, onto the floor.

Clearly noticing this, Hayama grew concerned about how blood showed itself on the floor.

"Is that blood?"

Was what he announced to us both.

Miura knew where it was coming from before I could think of making up a story, and put herself in front of me to shield Hayama's prying eyes from my arm and the floor.

"Ah, it's nothing! You must be seeing things! Come Hayato, can you walk me to the gates?"

Miura didn't allow Hayama the luxury of answering, as she began pushing him out of the school's front doors.

Glad that she saved me from having to deal with that asshat, I started wondering what I should do to halt this flow of memories currently smashing its way through my mental defences, when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

Releasing the clutch on my arm, I reached inside said pocket to find that Miura had sent me a text message. Bewildered, I unlocked my phone and tapped my finger on the notification, my phone bringing Miura's message into view.

[Tell me what happened later. And call me, don't text me, it's gross.]

The hell woman!

She obviously saw that something was incredibly wrong with me, and yet here she is telling me that my action of texting her would be gross?! Something is seriously wrong with this woman, I mean, c'mon!

Seriously, when I call her I'm going to speak in the most creepie-

I suddenly stopped myself as I realized at what had just happened, not only to my mind, but also to my body.

Mentally, I couldn't help but notice that thoughts of Miura began creating a dam to stem the flow of old and hurtful memories from my past. And physically? Physically, those thoughts set about repairing my scars, closing them up, and sealing my secrets inside once more.

Feeling my phone vibrate once more, I looked down at my still opened chat box with Miura, and witnessed another text appear.

[Remember, until you find that person, I'm here for you. Call me anytime. But remember, texting is forbidden, it's gross :I]

What's with that emoticon…?

I slowly looked up to find Miura shining beautifully in the resting sun's light, and ignored that there was a cynical pretty boy next to her. She noticed my stare, and before I could avert it, she offered me a wink and a slight glimpse of her tongue as she stuck it out towards me.

Bitchy to the end I suppose.

Anyways, back on track.

It was amazing. With just a simple text from her, my mind seemed to bring itself to complete ease, and my scars seemingly stopped their flow of blood.

…

You know Miura, I might have already found that person.

The drop of blood on the ground seemed to agree, as it began to slowly disappear from the ground, and into the oblivion that is our world.

I gathered the things I needed out of my locker, and headed out of the school doors to the bike racks outside. Unlocking my bike lock, I swung my right leg over the side of the bike and grabbed onto both handlebars, but was introduced to a sharp pang in my right hand.

Dammit!

I totally forgot that the hand still had a fresh gash.

The blood rich with nutrients and oxygen that my body needed slowly moved off of my hand, and onto the ground below.

Perhaps it acted as doubt, the blood that is. Doubt that she would be the person that would give me strength. After all, she just found out about it today, so how would she be able to give me that strength. But she was the only one out of everyone that I knew that could possibly begin to understand my situation. However, maybe there would be another person that would come into my life that would also understand, so she really couldn't be the person who was my strength.

All these thoughts of reassurance and doubt formed a battlefield in my mind that I had seen earlier. Reassurance took the form of light, and doubt the ugliness of the dark. They were battling with a ferocity that I had yet to see in my lifetime, both sides persistent that they were right, and what they were doing was the best for me, Hikigaya Hachiman.

But what side did I take? I was in the center of the battlefield, encircled by the light, but did that mean I took their side? It must be. I've wanted out of this darkness for so long, but no opportunities to do so have presented themselves to me, until now.

Then perhaps does that mean that I merely thirst for the strength that she can give me, or do I want her, herself?

My head began to throb due to the mass amounts of thoughts currently running about throughout my mind. I shook my head to dispel them, and succeeded only in slight. I still wondered if I merely wanted strength, or did I want **her** strength. I was sure I just wanted her strength, for I did not love Miura Yumiko...I couldn't have.

More blood began to run down my hand and onto the floor, increasingly representing the doubt I had inside of my mind.

I looked to the sky, and a rather heavy sigh escaped from the confines of my lips.

I should really clean up this blood.

* * *

Biking home proved no difficulty for me as I had done it many times before, resulting in myself gaining a particularly wondrous amount of stamina. When I would need this blessed stamina, God can only know, but I have a feeling that someday it would come to my aid for whatever circumstance I find myself in.

Placing my bike in the garage of my house, I entered my house through the door inside of the garage, and made my way inside of the now, desolate place.

I no longer refer to this place as my home, just simply my house. If you've been paying attention, it's an effortless answer when questioning my reference, but alas, perhaps some of you have not.

Home. A home is a place where you find sanctuary from the demon that is our world; a place where you are comforted from the wounds that are inflicted upon you, both mentally and physically; a place where your problems cannot reach you.

My house, or more accurately my family, is the exact adversary of that definition.

Not only are the wounds that are bestowed on me in mental and physical pains present in this house, it is directly causing them.

And one of those main causes, excluding myself, is the man currently passed out on the couch, a bottle of liquor adorned in his right hand.

The man still had his work clothes on, his shirt partially tucked in, and tie hanging loosely around his neck. His face looked like it had been to hell, and reluctantly came back, if you can even begin to imagine that, because if someone told me to, I would have no earthly idea what that would look like.

Yet here I am, observing that impossible face.

His face had a pattern of flashing lights sprawling across it, rapidly engulfing his entire face in light before drawing itself back, only to return mere seconds later. The intervals of this light changed dramatically, and it was not possible to pinpoint the exact amount of time that the light absorbed his face, as well as the amount of time it crawled back to wherever it came from.

Looking to the source of the light, I quickly realized that it was purely the television.

The channel was the evening news, as the time on the cable box read 19:00, which means 7:00 P.M for all you people who forgo 24-hour time. Seriously, damn Americans, always have to be different. I have no idea how many feet are in 10 meters, and you vice versa. Well, you are the sole superpower of the world, so I guess you deserve it.

Speaking of Americans, the evening news was informing the populace of Japan that the U.S. would begin launch preparations for the Mars mission that was happening next week.

I vaguely recall someone talking about sending people to Mars.

After discerning that too much unfolded today for me to remember such a trivial thing, my eyes automatically moved to my father's feet to confirm a suspicion I had already confirmed mentally.

Lying at his feet were a couple more bottles of whatever liquor was presently in his hand. I took a moment to fully look upon the man that aided in my birth, and the sight of it made me shake with anger and depression.

Why anger?

Let me just make something clear; the fact that I think...no, I **know** my father hates me, does not mean I intend to seek his love once more...no...that time is long gone.

Instead, his attitude towards me and this whole situation we have going on here, quite frankly, pisses me the fuck off.

Knowing I already mentioned this, I'll say it again.

My father has never spoken to me about the incident even once; Not. Even. Once. It's so frustrating.

How can we as a family, if that's we even are anymore, expect to move on in our pathetic lives if we don't talk about it!

You simply prefer to sit here and wallow in your sorrows for the rest of your life father? You just want to watch your son suffer for the rest of his life? You just want to keep things frozen in time between us, between this family?!

…

Calming myself, I took a deep sigh and sit myself on the couch opposite of him.

This is where the depression comes into play.

Look at us. I mean it; take a good, hard look at us.

Notice what we've become? Just two men who are simply too afraid to speak to one another about what happened; to afraid to embrace the idea that we might hate one another. Oh yes, I know it well. I think he hates me, and he thinks I hate him as well.

I...I don't hate my father...I'm merely disappointed. Disappointed that he wasn't there for me when I needed him the most; that he abandoned me when I did so to myself.

Perhaps he did that because he thinks I killed them. That's what I've convinced myself of anyways; that he blames me for their deaths, and why shouldn't he? I blame myself too.

But that doesn't warrant him leaving me, that doesn't allow him forgiveness for simply abandoning me when he was the only one to save me from this shit that I do. Sure, he didn't know I was going to do any of this, but it's comparable to that of him drinking his life away when he comes home early from work, today being such the case.

…

Another sigh let itself loose from my lips, somehow bringing in more depression into my soul and mind.

What have I become?

What have **we** become?

Pulling myself off the couch that offered me a seat, I slowly brought myself to the stairs and up them, knowing full well what I was about to take part in. Did I want to do it? Maybe not, hell; you could even say that I wanted to stop doing it. But it's the only thing that gives me closure. By making room for more of those depressed thoughts in my skin, I could take them out of my mind, and seal them there.

Maybe it wasn't the prettiest thing to do, but it was the only thing to do.

Silently opening the door to my room, and closing it behind me, I offered myself and the air surrounding me no words.

I didn't need any. Doing this, doesn't need any.

Walking over to my desk, I clasped my left hand over the knob of one of my drawer, that of which held within the tools of my trade. I was ready to do this again, for what seemed like the millionth time.

Yet I hesitated.

Because those thoughts once again rung throughout the contents of my mind.

 _What have I become?_

 _What have_ _ **we**_ _become?_

I clenched the knob as those thoughts circulated in my brain.

 _We have become sad men._

I clenched slightly harder.

 _Shattered men._

Harder.

 _...broken men._

If it were any more humanly possible, I clenched even harder on the knob, beginning to hear the sounds of splintering as I did.

 _With no one._

A tear traveled down my cheek, wetting the wood of the desk below, allowing particles of salt and human fluids to seep into the rather beautiful, marks of wood.

 _No one to turn to._

…

 _I need strength._

…

 _I need someone to be my strength._

I narrowly avoided slamming open the drawer of razor blades, by hearing a very familiar, and painful voice.

" _ **But you do have someone Onii-chan."**_

My eyes widened, widened to the point where they were that of normal eyes.

I shouldn't indulge in this, it might leave my thirst for my own blood even greater than it is now, it might cause me agony, pain, and grief…

But I haven't talked to her in awhile.

I'm going to regret this, aren't I?

" _ **I promise you won't, Onii-chan."**_

Ah, is that so?

" _ **Mhm!"**_

Well then, who might this, "someone" be?

With her ghostly appearance, Komachi looked at me with a rather dissatisfied look.

" _ **Onii-chan…"**_

What? What did I do?!

" _ **This is why you're so scummy Onii-chan. You can't even remember the girl who offered to help you."**_

…

Wait, are you talking about who I think you're talking about?

" _ **Yep, yep! Yumiko-onee-san!"**_

What's with that nickname, Komachi?

" _ **Oh shut up, stupid Hachiman Onii-chan!"**_

Is my name really an insult there?!

" _ **Yeah it is. But anyways, here."**_

Is that a cellphone?

Wait that's mine!

" _ **Shut up and take it, baka Onii-chan!"**_

H-hai…

Wait, what does my cell phone have to do with this?

" _ **Geez Onii-chan...at least connect the dots."**_

Miura...my cell phone...someone being my strength…

Oh.

Oh…

Thank you Komachi...really.

" _ **Don't worry about it Onii-chan. Just promise me you'll try from now on, okay?"**_

I will Komachi. I will.

With that she slowly disappeared from in front of me, smiling childishly the entire time she did.

I gripped the phone in my hand, and wondered if Miura could really give me that strength that I've needed all this time. She's already handed me her understanding, and that in itself managed to make me feel amazing. I wonder how I would feel if she could actually be my strength.

Having the goddess of the third year as my strength.

The thought cracked me up.

As I looked towards where Komachi was standing, I held the phone a bit tighter.

Perhaps she'll give me the strength to ask for your forgiveness...my beloved sister.

Dialing up Miura's phone number, I hoped and prayed that she would not be as bitchy as she was this afternoon.

Hearing the click that indicates that your call has been accepted, I spoke up, only for me to swallow my words moments later.

"Hey Miura, I was wond-"

"Oi, Hikio! Do you have any idea what time it is?! It's like 20:00! Are you retarded or something?! I know you don't have one, but people have lives you know!"

Ouch. And you're suppose to be my strength.

"G-gomenasai. You said I could talk to you if I needed to not do _**that,**_ so that's why I'm calling. Sorry to disturb you, I can call back late-"

"Oh so now you want to hang up on me?! You have some nerve Hikio."

Make up your mind!

"I see...so it's about _**that**_. Well, if it's about _**that**_ , we should talk about it in person, rather than on the phone. I'm just finished buying some groceries, you know where the Saize is?"

"Of course. I love Saize."

"I hate it."

I'm really starting to second guess Komachi's words here.

"But I'm not far from it, and it's late out, so most of the cafe's will be closed. I'll meet you there. And be here in 10 minutes."

"10 minutes?! You're in the city!"

"9 minutes."

Die in a fire!

Just kidding, please don't.

"Alright, alright! I'll be there in 9 minutes."

"You know what, make it 8."

"What the hell woman?!"

I heard her giggle on the other side of the phone, making me want to curse her.

"Just kidding. 10 minutes is fine, see you then."

With that she hung up the phone.

…

Will this woman ever make up her mind?

* * *

Remember when I said I felt I would need this stamina of mine for something? Well, I sure as hell am using it for something now.

Damn this woman, making me come out as such a late hour. It's a good thing that she's making me go to Saize, or I would never go out of my lazy ass ways to come out when society is at it's worse.

Then again, it's not like coming out at this time of day is anything quite new for me.

Every other day I'll go to the gym late at night in order to escape that desolate house, and inevitably, my razors. On the days I opt out of going to the gym, I might simply go for a bike ride and observe the night sky, wondering if my mother and sister are looking at me. Then the usual would occur, causing me to rush back to the place I was desperately trying to escape, and back to the tools in which I was trying to forgo; in all simplicity, my nights would be for naught. But what about the gym you ask? Well I would stay there until closing, and more often than not, my mind seems to wander back to the memories of my mother and sister, causing the chains of my past to once again put me back into the loop of depression and cynicality.

 _ **Calling Miura that day may not seem like something ridiculously huge, but I was at a point in my life where she had helped me take my first step forward towards moving on, and the feeling that exhibited from it was mysterious and unknowing, yet was tremendously incredible and inspirational.**_

 _ **Incredible because this feeling caused me to forget the confines of my past and instead turn to face them; inspirational because it allowed me to have a conversation with my dead sister without leaving me with a dozen cuts. It made me believe there was a way forward, and that very belief had started with her, so a simple phone call may seem so trivial to the common man, but it meant the world to me at that moment, and it still does to this day.**_

 _ **But back to the present that exists in the past, I had put my bike on the conveniently located bike rack that lay outside of the restaurant, and breathed in short increments as I rushed inside.**_

"Where...is...she?"

I had managed out in between short, staggering breaths. I scanned the mostly empty dining room, and found the blonde haired girl I was looking for. She was still in her school uniform, just as I was, and had evidently chose a booth located next to the window, which was also in the back of the restaurant.

Walking over to the table, I took my seat on the opposite side of her, and tried in vain to get her attention, which was currently being allocated to her phone.

Holding up a finger to my face, she asked in body language to wait, and I silently, yet tiredly obliged. A waiter had come over to me and asked what I would like to have on this "delighted evening", and I responded with a simple latte. Jotting down what I could only assume was my order, the waiter slightly bowed as he delivered the news that I wanted a latte to the people behind the counter.

Finally managing to put her phone down on her right, she looked up at me with a sea of green, which once again met a pair of grey wolves.

"You're late."

Well that depends really. Am I late when you actually bothered to look at me, or was I late when I walked through those doors?

The thought seemed to slip out of my mental process, and into my verbal one, and she responded to the question/statement.

"Both."

Was her response.

"Well sorry, I told you, you were in the city. It's impossible to get here in 10 minutes from where I live."

"Yeah, I noticed."

I'll punch you, I really will.

"Well, since you look like you made an actual effort to get here, I'll let it slide this time."

Well thank you very much, Miura-chan.

"So anyways, we both know why we're here. Why don't you explain to me why you called me."

Taking a sip of the latte that the waiter had brought only moments ago, I respected her request for an explanation, even though it was more so a demand that a request.

Taking my time explaining to her the situation my father and I were in, she seemed to grasp in full the reason why I had called her seconds before I began to do _**that**_.

"Jesus, and I thought I had daddy issues."

Wow, you're a snarky one aren't you?

Noticing the grimace on my face, she giggled slightly, and took a more serious expression on her face.

"Well I'm glad you called, because if I knew you could have and you didn't, **and** you did _**that**_ , I would have cut you myself."

I think the whole Earth shook with me once she said that, as I shivered at the memory of Miura holding a syringe up to my throat.

"Well, I'm glad I could be _**your strength**_ , even though it's only temporary."

My eyes widened once she said those two words, "your strength". That feeling I had got when I told her my story had suddenly hit me like a nuclear bomb, the good feelings it gave me acting as a sort of radiation from the nuclear blast.

"Don't look at me like that Hikio, it's mega-creepy."

…

Did she just say "mega-creepy"?

Oh that's just hilarious.

Keeping in my amusement in fear of her doing something crazy again, I apologized in full.

"Gomenasai."

She merely flicked her hair at my apology. Jeez, that's like really rude Miura-chan. You should acknowledge my apology Miura-chan.

After a few moments of sipping our respective drinks, her's being a cappuccino, she spoke up.

"I guess I should tell you my story then, shouldn't I?"

I gave her a questioning look, one she got a little upset at.

"Don't you remember? I told you I would tell you how I got my strength, and how I'm able to give some to you. God, don't you, like, have a brain? Or does it just sit there all day while you sit on your couch all day?"

"My grades are better than yours you know."

She shot me a glare as I said that, and a fiery aura seemed to gather around her as she did.

"Care to say that again, Hikio?"

Oh no, I don't think so woman. I pick my battles, and I can assure you, I will not win this one.

"Say what? I didn't say anything."

She gave me a, "Mhm", and the fire around her dissipated.

"Well then, let me get to telling you my story then."

* * *

I'm not trying to sound bitchy or anything like that, but I know I'm rather high in the ranks when it comes to beauty.

Guys constantly fawn over me, girls give me dirty looks, and nobody actually wants to get to know **me.**

But it wasn't always like that; no...it really wasn't. And it was terrible; very terrible.

Throughout elementary school nobody said anything about my looks, because we simply didn't care, at least where I grew up.

I was born over in Hokkaido, and nobody cared what you looked like over there. We were all too busy farming, or playing in the puddles, or hiking in the mountains to care about how we looked. It was a really good time over there; a really good time.

But my dad got a job here in Chiba, and it paid really well, at least that's what he told me. He didn't tell me what it was when we moved over here, but it didn't really matter. As I grew up my parents revealed to me the reason why we moved; we were simply low on money. Very low.

That's also part of the reason why I didn't know about beauty and looks, because we didn't have the money to know about those kinds of things.

But when we moved to Chiba, that changed. We had money for those types of things, little things that we couldn't afford before, we could buy now. How could I know that though? I didn't know that I looked as bad as I did before, but when I went to Junior High, it was a rude awakening.

The moment I walked into the classroom I saw all these pretty girls who were talking up all the boys, and making friends fast and what not. But when they started taking notice of me, the second they took a glance at me they would reel in disgust.

Boys would belittle me about my looks as well, but it was the girls that were the worse, and I mean the _**worst.**_

They would take my things, write "ugly bitch" on my desk, and push all the responsibility onto me in terms of class duties and the like.

At first I could deal with it.

I would simply replace my things, scrub my desk clean before the teacher came in, and would do all the class duties myself, but eventually it became tiring. Tiring to the point that it started to manipulate the way I thought about myself; that the way the viewed me was actually how I was.

I began to question myself, began to question my resolve to beat the bullies and live my life.

And when I began to do that….it all came crashing down on top of me.

That delicate life that I had, that had been teased by others before but only playfully, was fully experiencing the harsh truth of reality.

People were awful. Especially when you didn't fight back.

But that wasn't what I was thinking at the time; that wasn't the harsh reality that I thought I was being introduced to.

No, instead of receiving the knowledge that people can be appalling things, I got the knowledge that I was everything they said I was.

Ugly.

Disgusting.

Useless.

Meaningless.

Unwanted.

All that and more; I truly believed that I was all those things. And that was my mistake.

I began to craft a fake reality around myself, telling myself that I was this, and I was that, and somehow had an explanation for all of it.

I was meaningless because I didn't have the looks to prove it, and I hated myself because of it.

Unwanted because of my looks.

Disgusting because of my looks.

Looks, looks, and more fucking looks!

That's all those people cared about! Was fucking looks!

They didn't care who you were, what you were like, and how you treated others, it was simply the looks.

And I didn't have those looks, and that led me into the spiraling descent of depression.

I first got the idea of cutting from people saying that I probably do that by hearing all the shit they threw at me. Can you believe that?

They were just awful people, plain and simple.

But that's not what I thought; I thought I was the awful one, because I didn't have those damn looks.

So I searched up what cutting was, and was utterly disgusted by it. I mean when I saw a video of it, it was horrific.

But I was so hellbent on believing what those bitches said about me, that I actually was stupid enough to believe that cutting was what I should be doing.

And when I started, I just couldn't stop.

The pain, it was so relieving. It was a drug, and I, it's addict.

People don't understand that after a while, it just becomes addicting. Just like anything else. Because it stimulates your mind, just like drugs do, albeit in a different way.

Everytime you look at a sharp object, your scars just start to itch and you want to take it, and stab slice yourself open.

It's appalling.

But I didn't think it was at the time. I was so wrapped up in my fake reality of not being someone I was supposed to be, that it meant I was a lesser person.

Everyday I went to school, got belittled, and then came home and cut. Rinse and repeat.

I thought I was giving myself a fair punishment for not being who I was supposed to be: a person with looks.

And then I met Hina.

And then everything for me changed.

It wasn't the scenario that we found ourselves in, you and I; no, it was completely different. Unlike you and me, Hina wasn't a shattered human being, in simple terms, she had her shit together. She didn't care that people called her weird for her nosebleeds, and she didn't care that the boys weren't fawning over either.

Long story short, we eventually became friends, and after me telling her after so many times that it was "fine" she finally confronted me about how I felt towards all those wretched people.

I told her everything, spewed my heart out, made myself a complete mess in front of her. But she wasn't shocked; she was sad for me and my pain, and angry at those people. By then, Hina had become my best friend, and those words she said to me changed me for the better.

"It's okay Yumi-chan. I'm here for you."

That's what she said to me after I cried in her arms.

From that point on, Hina became my strength, and with it, my resolve to be myself returned.

But I wanted to show them. I wanted to show them that I could be even more beautiful than they were. So I bought my makeup and such and I did just that. I developed my attitude I have now, and the looks I have now, and exacted my revenge. The girls hated me for a different reason from then on, because all their boyfriends would leave them and go to ask me out. It was a hilarious revenge. I rejected all of them of course, because I hate those superficial kinds of relationships.

And so, using Hina as my strength, I faced my demons and broke the facade of reality that surrounded me. And here I am today. A girl with a bitchy attitude and good looks, and I love myself for it.

My circumstances are obviously completely different from yours, and I know that you blame yourselfs for their deaths, but take a good and hard look at your mother and sister's personalities. You might blame _**yourself**_ for their deaths, but would _**they blame you**_?

And your father...well, you just need to find the strength that I did. And although it might be temporary, I can offer you that strength. Because when I needed it the most, it came to me, and I feel that you need it more than ever right now, and I'm more than willing to help.

* * *

" _ **You might blame yourself, but would they blame you?**_ "

Those words that came out of Miura's mouth still reverberated throughout my entire being.

Did I create for myself a fake reality in which I believed I blamed myself for my mother and sister's death? Then in that sense, does that mean me feeling that my father hates me is fake as well? Did I cut myself for nothing at all?

And what about my clubmates? Did I push them away simply because I was living in my own world?

Is my depression nothing but a sham?

All these thoughts waged war against one another in my head, causing me to grab my arm for the impending bleeding effect.

I could notice Miura put on quite the worried face, and her next words offered me courage.

"Hey, don't think too much into it. That was a lot to take in. Take it slowly, that's what I had to do. Face your demons one at a time."

With that, I released my arm and my thoughts began to organize themselves in a rather orderly fashion.

Finally recovering from whatever had just occurred, I saw Miura wield a guilty expression on her face.

"I guess I shouldn't have said that about your family. I know how it makes you feel, yet I still said it. Gomenasai."

I quickly protested her guilt.

"No, no! It was very helpful to me. You are right, perhaps I blame myself for their deaths, but never stopped to think about what they might have felt. It's just that all these other problems started flooding into my head, and I couldn't handle it it for a moment."

"Yeah, that's what happened to me. Like I said, take it one demon at a time. I know I shouldn't be saying anything, but maybe start with you mom and sister first. And then move on from there."

Maybe I should do that...yeah, I think I will. How will I do that?

I have absolutely no idea.

But I have my strength right here.

"You'll help me with that won't you?"

I was half-expecting her to say no, absolutely not, that would be gross, or something along those lines, because after all, no one expect Komachi has ever been my strength before, and I wouldn't be surprised if she was merely just saying it to get rid of me.

But to my glee she offered me one of the sweetest smiles I've seen in my 18 years on this Earth.

"Of course! I'm not going back on my word you know."

That smile saw that mysterious feeling return once again, and much to my chagrin, sent me once again inquiring as to what exactly it was.

Taking a glance on the watch that lay upon her wrist, she made a small "O" sound, and proceeded to alert me as to what time it was.

"It's 21:50, oh my God!"

Wow, we were talking for that long? That was almost two hours. Well in hindsight, she did most of the talking while I sat there helplessly wanting to comfort her, but respectfully it's still the same.

Standing up from the booth, she gathered the groceries that were to her right, and I stood up with her.

"I go to go home like right now. I was supposed to back 15 minutes ago."

She started eyeing me up, and I swear I could see a lightbulb appear above her head.

"Oh, I got it! I'll just tell my parents that a creepy guy was harassing me, and show them a picture of you!"

What in the hell!

"I'd rather not have police knocking on my door, so please don't."

Eliciting a giggle that was all too cute, Miura seemed pleased by my reaction.

"Well, I'd better get going."

"Thanks for telling me your story Miura, I really appreciate it. You've given me a lot to think about, and I appreciate you giving me strength."

Giving her a slightly bow, I took note of how she was taken aback.

Giving me another sweet smile, she said her next words.

"Anytime Hikio, anytime."

We walked out of the diner together, and discovered that our houses were relatively close, as we began walking the same path towards home.

"You know, you really don't have to walk with your bike, I'm fine."

"You say that, but I'm carrying your groceries you know."

"It's not my fault, you insisted on doing it."

"Its because of a certain fox."

"A fox? Are you mentally unstable?"

"You know Isshiki right?"

"Oh. Yeah, definitely a fox that girl."

We both shared a laugh that enlightened both of our hearts, until we came to a T-intersection.

It was the road they both died on.

I was looking longingly at the road when Miura questioned as to why I was doing such a peculiar thing.

"What, are you waiting to molest unknowing girls or something?"

Miura said in a joking tone.

I slightly chuckled at her jab, somewhat amused.

"No...this is where they died. On this road. My mother and sister that is."

I could feel her guilt from behind me, causing me to thwart it before it took into the form of words.

"Don't worry though, I've got my strength here with me, so I'm all good."

Was my attempt to smack away her guilt. I even added a smile.

"Strength? What strength?"

Wanting to facepalm, I offered her an answer to her question.

"You, idiot."

As those words left my mouth we both stood still, the world seemingly stopping around us. I lived on a hill, and this T-intersection just so happened to overlook the night lights of Chiba, offering a rather romantic setting.

 _ **Of course, that setting would not be used today, but in due time, it would be.**_

Miura's face became slightly rose-colored, which in turn caused me to question her blush.

"What's with that blush?"

I said attempting to jab at her.

"I-I'm not blushing!"

"You're even stuttering now. You going to confess to me or something?"

Snatching the groceries out of my left hand, she turned around and faced the opposite direction in which my house was.

"Like that would ever happen! In your dreams you creep!"

Keep calling me a creep and they won't be Miura-chan.

We both let out small chuckles and proceeded to face each other once more.

"In all seriousness Hikio, when you're ready to face any of your demons, just let me know, and I'll be there as your 'strength'."

"Will do Miura."

With that, she waved to me with her free hand and walked towards the direction of her house.

Looking towards the road to my right, I began to think of my demons that I should face first.

Mother and Komachi.

With Miura's help, I'll definitely ask for your forgiveness, and sort this out, after all, she's my strength.

Thinking of Miura as my strength recalled this mysterious feeling.

This feeling had been there when I told her my story, when she offered me her strength, and smiled that sweet smile at me.

It couldn't be, that could it?

No.

Definitely not.

To be honest, Miura reminds me of someone. It's not normal for me to open up to someone that quick, let alone tell them my whole story.

…

Looking up towards the night sky, I noticed it was clear and that I could see the stars above.

The cool autumn wind caused me to gain goosebumps as it soared throughout my being.

...

I wonder if they're looking down at me right now.

Mother. Komachi.

I can assure you, with Miura at my side, and this feeling that I can't pin down, I can most definitely assure you,

 _ **Change Is Coming**_ _ **.**_


	4. Author's Note

_**Author's Note**_

 ** _New Chapter_**

* * *

After around two years, there is a new chapter. The writing style of it is tremendously different than the rest, and quite frankly is better. I'll more than likely rewrite the previous chapters, as in my opinion they are terrible.


	5. The Realizaiton

**DISCLAIMER**

You'll notice the writing style of this chapter is different from the others. That is to be expected, as this chapter has been written around two years after the previous one.

* * *

 _ **Chapter III**_

 _ **The Realization**_

* * *

I have always told myself that cutting was the only answer to the problems that have plagued me for the past year. That there was no one to help me, no one to pour out my worries and fears to. I have been telling myself that for God knows how long, yet when I wake up this morning, I feel as if that way of thinking has been totally negated. Just who did this to my mental process?

As I ask myself this question, I see beautiful woman come into my mind. Her blonde hair falls onto her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall, her eyes would make one lose oneself in a sea of green, and the strength that she is going to be lending me has arisen a feeling deep inside of me.

Is it the feeling of gratitude, or is it something more?

A feeling of romance would be impossible.

I am too numb from the incident and my own self-harm to be able to feel such a feeling. No, it is more clearly defined as me not deserving such a feeling.

The things I have done to my family to make it the way it is now: splintered and lost. No one to rescue my father and I as we drift helplessly in a sea of sorrow. No one to rescue me from the pools of blood that I have forced myself endure. If I am the cause of all of these depressing circumstances, who am I to have the luxury of love? Who am I to have feelings of attachment?

Yet when Miura Yumiko makes her way into my head, I feel as if I can be rescued from the sorrow that I have created for myself. I feel, dare I say it, happy. The depression washes off my body, the grief that I have been holding in for months is encouraged to reveal itself, the secrets hidden within my scars cry to me to tell her exactly what they are.

When I think of her I see someone I can trust myself to entirely. Someone that I can relay my problems to, someone that will help me solve those very problems, someone that can bring closure into my life.

All of these thoughts swell inside of not just my mind or body, but my very being; my soul. However, the question remains: what exactly is causing this? Is it a feeling of gratitude, or is it the absurd concept of romance?

Is it both?

I feel secure when I think of what she has and could do for me. I spend less time cutting because I am thinking of her. These past three days the only thing that has remained in my head besides my problems in Miura Yumiko. She is permanently lodged inside of my head.

Do I love her? Am I simply grateful?

I toss and turn on my bed thinking about what exactly I feel towards Miura. Normally, one would look upon this situation as a hormonal teenage boy falling in love with his crush, but I know better than to believe such bullshit.

My circumstances are different than the average teenager - drastically different. I know I am not thinking of Miura because of her looks or any other superficial means of attachment, but because of what she went through and how she can help me, or rather, be my strength. I know **why** I am thinking of Miura, but I fail to understand just what this feeling is as a result of me thinking about her.

Maybe I have fallen for her…

Yeah right.

To cease my thoughts on the matter, I shoot up from my bed and reach for a cloth. I wonder how many cuts I gave myself last night.

As I begin to pat my arm down, I notice that I feel no serious hints of pain. Yes there is the pain from my older scars that are still healing, but not the pain that comes from fresh cuts.

I remove the cloth from my arm and observe its skin.

…

Huh?

I rub my eyes to make sure that I am seeing things right.

Impossible…

There...are no cuts…

I suddenly recall that I was thinking only about Miura last night.

I'm beginning to think I really am a hormonal teenager.

Putting the cloth back in the pile where it came from, a faint, yet noticeable smile made its way onto my lips.

Strength huh?

If you've stopped me from cutting, then maybe I really have fallen in love with you Miura.

I look out of my window and observe the morning sky.

The sun beams straight into my room, resulting in my body's natural instinct to block it with my hand. Although my eyes are seemingly unable to handle the light of the sun, my body is tantalized by the warmth it provides me, instilling inside of me a very fuzzy feeling.

We take the sun for granted. We complain about how it is hot and ruins a perfectly nice day if there is no beach or wind to offset the heat. We wear sunglasses because we are annoyed by the rays of the sun, yet it provides us the Vitamin D we need to survive. The sun is a marvelous thing that human beings have neglected to thank for all the good that it does for not only us, but the planet that we live on as well.

While these philosophical thoughts traverse my brain, a certain similarity comes to my mind.

Miura is just like the sun.

She is slightly, well mostly annoying when she is bitchy, which can be equated to the heat that the sun blankets the Earth with. I have to cover my eyes from the rays of beauty that she emits daily, and people neglected her in middle school because they thought her looks were subpar. And most of all, she is giving me the strength to survive my problems and my cutting.

I may not know the feelings that you stir inside of me Miura, but I do know one thing for sure.

Unlike humans with the sun, I will definitely not neglect you nor take you for granted.

That I can promise you.

* * *

School usually spells annoyance for me. It's a place that I need to remain constantly on guard, for I'd rather people not get wind that I do the things that I do.

Though with the recent addition of Miura in my strength capacity, I feel as if my guard may not need to remain up all the time. Or, at least around her.

As I approach the gate of the school, I dismount my trusty bike and utilize my legs to close the remaining gap between myself and the entrance of the school. However, I can't help but begin to move my eyes towards the mean of transportation that I use everyday.

It was a gift from my mother. She bought it for me before the first day of school, in anticipation of its use. While it would sit in the shed outback for a short time after my accident, I did begin to use it after I recovered.

Though after she died, it was hard to even look at the thing, let alone get on it and ride it. Before I started cutting, it would simply sit neglected in the backyard, just like it did after I had my accident.

After Komachi died, I eventually started using it again, though everytime I did I felt like I should drive it off the nearest bridge. I almost did once. Almost.

I negated that feeling with cutting, prefering to endure suffering rather than death. It was the main reason why I didn't just deliver on that threat of going off a bridge and into some river. Or maybe bike into the middle of the street.

I noticed something while I was thinking. I didn't feel the need to cut when thinking of the bike, who got it for me, and who always wanted me to take her everywhere on it.

Not once. My arm didn't even itch thinking about how it was strange not to want to cut.

I smiled, and a little pep went into my step. I guess I've got to thank her for that whenever I get to talk to her next. I can't really do it here, can I? It's school after all.

The section of the school where students park their bikes is quite close to the gate, and as such I do not need to waste vital energy travelling to some forsaken corner of the school grounds.

As I slant my head over to the station so that my body will hopefully move towards it, I notice a certain blonde-haired individual sliding a string of fiber around her tire and a parallel bike rack. As she's doing so, she's conversing with a group of friends. Evidently, they're discussing something hilarious, if they're laughter has anything to say about it.

Involuntarily, my eyes begin to widen at the sight of her and my heart seems to beat a little faster than usual, though not rapidly so. An urge inside of me wishes to go over and speak to her; to relay all the good telling her my story has done so far.

Then I realize where I am and who surrounds me, and most importantly, of who she is.

The realization hurts.

Miura is someone who is one of the ranking members in the school's hierarchy. She boasts a great amount of friends - real or not - and has a reputation that cannot be tarnished. She's well known and unlike me, has triumphed over her issues.

Suddenly, this girl, no, woman, I've come to bring near to my heart feels much more distant than a few seconds ago. It appears that I neglected to remember just who Miura is, and who I am.

How can I use this woman as a piece of my strength? We are worlds - galaxies even - apart. We're two completely different people, from two completely different worlds. I can't hope to lean on this woman's shoulders.

Then I realize something else. Pity.

More than likely, this woman is taking pity on me rather than actually trying to be a source of strength. Then, as soon as I actually needed help, she would be hesitant and leave me to my own destruction.

Maybe I am just being a hormonal teenager.

Tearing my eyes from her, which simultaneously seem to tear my heart, I walk my bike over to where I usually do, slipping the coarse fiber-lock around the tire and rack once I arrive.

I run through all the procedures that I usually do. After all, I'm operating on autopilot. It helps me to block out the things people say about me, which go on to include my sister and mother. After all, a senior editor and her daughter dying just a few weeks apart on the same street isn't exactly a story that is going to stay quiet.

Ironically though, their words don't affect me all that much. I cut because of the hatred for myself, not for them. But the fact that both the mention of my mother and sister slip out of their lips doesn't help at all. It obviously reminds me of them, which cause me to be reminded of them, and causes me to...well, one can get the picture.

Returning my mind to my surroundings, I see that I'm finished removing everything I need from my bike. After slipping out of autopilot for a moment to confirm this, I swing my bag over my shoulder and stuff my hands into my pockets, forgoing the slouch that I use to do.

Without the slouch, the length of my body is increased to around six feet tall, placing me higher than the average person. This, combined with my eyes and my physique I improved through weights, also acts to counteract people from speaking about me, as it appears that I'm ready to kill them at any moment. Which might or might not be far from the truth. After all, hearing them speak about my dead family members infuriates me as much as it depresses me.

I pull out my superior Android phone, and plug earphones into an actual port and not a non-existent one, as well into my ears. As I begin walking away, I hear more noise next to me than usual. Probably some clic being annoyingly loud, neglecting the fact that other people exist in the world.

I continue walking from bike lot and to the doors of the building, only to be violently pulled backwards by my right arm, my earphone falling out as a result.

"What the hell-"

"Hikio!"

I freeze. Why are you calling my name, Miura? Please tell me you're mistaking me for someone that has the same name as me.

"Hikigaya, I'm talking to you."

Apparently not.

Fearing the venom that is seemingly spewing out of her mouth, I turn towards her so that my right side is facing her.

"Well, at least you're looking at me."

She releases my right arm from her grasp, which is surprisingly tight, and folds her arms in front of her.

"I'll forgive you for ignoring me the first time. So, how's your morning going?"

Before I can even think of an answer, I hear more than one person in the background questioning as to why Miura Yumiko is engaging in conversation with me.

"She's actually talking to that creep?"

"What the hell is she doing?"

"Oh my gosh! She's going to get murdered!"

Pressing the the bits of annoyance out of my ear, I return to creating a response to Miura, when my ears are subject to a question that sums up my current feelings.

"Poor guy. She's probably taking pity on him for his mom and sister."

"You actually feel sorry for that dude?"

"You're right. I need to go wash my mouth out with bleach!"

The two girls begin laughing, then slowly begin to walk to their respective classes.

You can choke on some bleach, you ugly bitch.

They're right though. As if Miura Yumiko would actually converse with me for something other than pity. To her, I'm just a sad little boy that went through the same shit as her, and now she feels like she needs to offer me some words of encouragement to help my sad little boy life. It was a joke to even think otherwise.

I exhale heavily before I turn back to Miura, but when I do, I notice that their is shock smeared across her face.

"Is that what you really think, Hikio?"

Now, the shock is on my face, as I'm wondering as to how she could have figured that out. I must have said those words out loud.

Her reaction to my lack of an answer was clear, as anger began to become her emotion. Though, I was able to see that there existed another, more subdued motion: hurt.

Hurt her was the last thing I planned on doing. I messed up.

Before I could usher out an apology of sincerity, a blur on the left side approached my face.

It stung, incredibly so. Not only that, but the force had actually forced my face to turn slightly to the right, allowing me to see the stunned expressions plastered on people's faces.

I brought my left hand up to the side of my face that she had slapped, deservedly so. It ached with a searing pain, which was only enhanced with the contact of my hand. What was aching even more however, was my heart upon being witness to the face that was currently endowed upon Miura.

The anger that was previously on her face had been mostly replaced by the formerly subdued emotion of hurt. It pained me to see her so.

"When did I ever say that I pitied you? Did I say it to you in that cafe when I told you about my past? Or when I listened to you tell yours? Answer me you asshole!"

"No."

"So why in the hell do you think that?"

She was borderline yelling, which was causing massive amounts of attention to be brought to us.

"Miura, you should really stop speaking so loud. People are looking over here."

"So? Since when did you ever give a damn about other people and their opinions?"

"You're right."

"So why are you worried about them looking, Hikio?"

"I don't care about people's opinions Miura, but you do. About your reputation right? After all, you are the Queen Bee."

She was visibly taken aback. Perhaps she actually forgot that she had a place to maintain here in the school.

"Like I care about that, you dumbass!"

Wait, what? What does she mean? She doesn't care about the fact that conversing with me can ruin her place in this school? Does she not care about that at all?

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? Did you really expect me to be one of those counselors who sit there and pity you, not actually giving a damn about what you're going through? No! I've actually gone through what you have, albeit not as bad. If anything, you should be taking pity on me for how stupid my reason was in comparison to yours!"

No, no! Why would I take pity on you? You laid out your scarred past to me, and you listened to mine. You're the only person that I've been able to open up to. The only person that I've talked to about it since it even happened. I couldn't take pity on you even if I wanted to.

"Don't say that Miura. That reason was genuine to you! It's not stupid. And I wouldn't dare take pity on you. Not in a million years."

"Then give me the same benefit of the doubt, Hikio! Don't expect me to pity you if you don't pity me!"

How am I supposed to know that? How can I expect you to not pity me when I drown myself in it? How can I expect you to not feel like that when the feeling of a razor across my skin is the only out that I have in my life, the only mediator for the pain that I have? I blame myself for my mother's and sister's deaths, and use a blade to hurt myself rather than kill myself because to me, dying is an easy way out. I should suffer because I get to live and they do not.

How can I not pity myself when I believe all these things? And how can I expect you not to pity me because of it?

"But how am I supposed to know that! How am I supposed to know that you're not going to pity me if I pity myself? This shattered, broken, and hollow shell of a man that can't handle the death of his own mother and sister, and who blames himself for it! Who thinks an everlasting pain is better than death so that he may atone for being alive when they're not! How?!"

I clench the strap of my bag with my right hand, tears beginning to run down my cheeks as I do. Instinctively, my left hand wraps itself around my right arm, the itch of the scars flaring as these thoughts and words leave my body.

"How can I expect you to be strong for me when I can't even be strong for myself?"

Ignoring the stares that are sure to be directed towards the current situation, Miura moves closer to me and does something that I didn't expect at all: she wraps her arms around the crevice of my back, and envelops me in a hug that is filled with nothing but warmth and comfort. Before fulfilling the entire hug, she gently lifts my left hand from my right hand, understanding the reason as to why it was there.

"Don't think about doing it. Just think about the hug."

I do just that, and it feels right.

Just then, a sudden thought came to my head: I can really use this girl as my strength so I can obtain my own.

As I was crying on her shoulder, with her arms around me and mine around her, and as people stared at us with shocked faces, I knew that I was on the right path to finally be able to tackle what I know is a jaded interpretation of my sorrows. And it was all because of,

 _ **The Realization.**_

* * *

 ** _Author's Note_**

* * *

If you read the previous chapters, you'll realize that writing style utilized in this one is quite different from the previous ones. Time changes everything, including styles of writing.

The point of this story was to break norms and bring about awareness some do not have. And what better way to do that than with a character that everyone in this community loved. Though, the community I wrote this for has changed drastically since two years ago, because, after all, time changes everything.

Anyways, you might have noticed - to steal a quote from Drake - that things went from "0-100 real quick." That was intended. Depression often causes one to draw conclusions not only falsely, but quickly as well. So the attitude of someone that is going through serious depression, as our beloved character is, can change tremendously in a few moments time. If you have a friend that is going through something like that, make sure that you are very explicit with them and relay to them all the details of something that you say so that they have absolutely no room to misinterpret your words.

This chapter was also intended to summarize how Hachiman felt about his parents death. More so for me than you, so that I can use this chapter as a control as this contains my most recent writing style.

The next chapter will more than likely focus on solidifying the dynamic between Hachiman and Yumiko after it is tested through the classroom setting. If you read the last chapter, then you'll probably guess that there is more to their relationship than simply a shared experience. Perhaps something that they both do not remember.

I'll go ahead and plug my other story here, so read it if you're interested in Sci-fi. And before you ask, yes, it is based in part off of Legend of the Galactic Heroes, though it's very different. At least I think so.


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